Chapter Twenty Three.I start for a Walk.“Who’s for a walk?” said Uncle Dick one morning. “I’m going up the hills to the millstone-grit quarry.”I started, and my heart gave a throb, but I did not look up.“I can’t go,” said Uncle Jack.“And I’m busy,” said Uncle Bob.“Then I shall have to put up with Cob,” said Uncle Dick gloomily. “Will you come, my lad?”“Will I come!” I cried, jumping and feeling as if I should like to shout for joy, so delightful seemed the idea of getting away into the hills, and having one of our old walks.“Well, it must be at mid-day, and you will have to meet me out at Ranflitt.”“Two miles on the road?” I said.“Yes; you be there, and if I’m not waiting I sha’n’t be long, and we’ll go on together.”“What time shall I start?” I asked.“When the men go to their dinner will do. I have some business at the far end of the town, and it will not be worth while for me to come back. I’ll take the other road.”So it was settled, and I took my big stick down to the office, and a net satchel that was handy for anything when slung from the right shoulder and under my left arm. Before now it had carried fish, partridges, fruits, herbs, roots of plants, and oftener than anything else, lunch.That seemed to be a long morning, although I wrote hard all the time so as to get a good day’s work over first; but at last the dinner-bell rang, and, saying good-bye to the others, I slipped the satchel into my pocket, took my stick, and started.We had not thought of those who would be loitering about during their dinner-hour, but I soon found that they were thinking of me, for not only were our own men about the streets, but the men of the many other works around; and to my dismay I soon found that they all knew me by sight, and that they were ready to take notice of me in a very unpleasant way.I was walking steadily on when a stone hit me in the leg, and instead of making haste and getting out of range, I stopped short and looked round angrily for my assailant.I could see a dozen grinning faces, but it was of course impossible to tell who threw, and before I turned back an oyster-shell struck me in the back.I turned round angrily and found myself the object of a tremendous shout of laughter.Almost at the same moment I was struck by an old cabbage-stump and by a potato, while stones in plenty flew by my head.“The cowards!” I said to myself as I strode on, looking to right and left, and seeing that on both sides of the way a number of rough boys were collecting, encouraged by the laughter and cheers of their elders.We had not a single boy at our works, but I could see several of our men were joining in the sport, to them, of having me hunted.To have a good hunt, though, it is necessary to have a good quarry, that is to say, the object hunted must be something that will run.Now, in imagination I saw myself rushing away pursued by a mob of lads, hooting, yelling, and pelting me; but I felt not the slightest inclination to be hunted in this fashion, and hence it was that I walked steadily and watchfully on, stick in hand, and prepared to use it too, if the necessity arose.Unfortunately I was in a road where missiles were plentiful, and these came flying about me, one every now and then giving me such a stinging blow that I winced with pain. The boys danced round me, too, coming nearer as they grew bolder from my non-resistance, and before long they began to make rushes, hooting and yelling to startle me, no doubt, into running away.But so far they did not succeed; and as I continued my walking they changed their tactics, keeping out of reach of my stout stick, and taking to stones and anything that came to hand.I could do nothing. To have turned round would only have been to receive the objects thrown in my face; and when at last, stung into action by a harder blow than usual, I did turn and make a rush at the boy I believed to have thrown, he gave way and the others opened out to let me pass, and then closed up and followed.It was a foolish movement on my part, and I found I had lost ground, for to get on my way again I had to pass through a body of about a dozen lads, and the only way to do this as they gathered themselves ready to receive me, was by making a bold rush through them.They were already whispering together, and one of them cried “Now!” when I made a rush at them, stick in hand, running as fast as I could.They made a show of stopping me, but opened out directly, and as soon as I had passed yelled to their companions to come on, with the result that I found I could not stop unless I stood at bay, and that I was doing the very thing I had determined not to do—racing away from my pursuers, who, in a pack of about forty, were yelling, crying, and in full chase.To stop now was impossible: all that was open to me was to run hard and get into the more open suburb, leaving them behind, while I had the satisfaction of knowing that before long the bells at the different works would be ringing, and the young vagabonds obliged to hurry back to their places, leaving me free to maintain my course.So that, now I was involuntarily started, I determined to leave my pursuers behind, and I ran.I don’t think I ever ran so fast before, but fast as I ran I soon found that several of the lightly clothed old-looking lads were more than my equals, and they kept so close that some half a dozen were ready to rush in on me at any moment and seize me and drag me back.I was determined, though, that they should not do that, and, grasping my stick, I ran on, more blindly, though, each moment. ’Tis true, I thought of making for the outskirts and tiring the boys out; but to my dismay I found that fresh lads kept joining in the chase, all eager and delighted to have something to run down and buffet, while my breath was coming thickly, my heart beat faster and faster, and there was a terrible burning sensation in my chest.I looked to right for some means of escape, but there was none; to left was the same; behind me the tolling pack; while before me stretched the lanes, and mill after mill with great dams beyond them similar to ours.I should have stopped at bay, hoping by facing the lads to keep them off; but I was streaming with perspiration, and so weak that I knew, in spite of my excitement, that I should hardly be able to lift my arm.On and on, more and more blindly, feeling moment by moment as if my aching legs would give way beneath me. I gazed wildly at my pursuers to ask for a little mercy, but unfortunately for me they, excited and hot with their chase, were as cruel as boys can be, and men too at such a time.There was nothing for it but to rush on at a pace that was fast degenerating into a staggering trot, and in imagination, as the boys pushed me and buffeted me with their caps, I saw myself tripped up, thrown down, kicked, and rolled in the dust, and so much exhausted that I could not help myself.One chance gave me a little more energy. It must be nearly time for the bells to ring, and then they would be bound to give up the pursuit; but as I struggled I caught sight of a clock, and saw that it wanted a quarter of an hour yet.There were some men lounging against a wall, and I cried out to them, but they hardly turned their heads, and as I was hurried and driven by I saw that they only laughed as if this were excellent sport.Next we passed a couple of well-dressed ladies, but they fled into a gateway to avoid my pursuers, and the next minute I was hustled round a corner, the centre of the whooping, laughing crowd, and, to my horror, I found that we were in a narrow path with a row of stone cottages on one side, the wall of a dam like our own, and only a few inches above the water on the other.I had felt dazed and confused before. Now I saw my danger clearly enough and the object of the lads.I was streaming with perspiration, and so weak that I could hardly stand, but, to avoid being thrust in, and perhaps held under water and ducked and buffeted over and over again, I felt that I must make a plunge and try and swim to the other side.But I dared not attempt it, even if I could have got clear; and blindly struggling on I had about reached the middle of the dam path when a foot was thrust out, and I fell.Sobbing for my breath, beaten with fists, buffeted and blinded with the blows of the young savages’ caps, I struggled to my feet once more, but only to be tripped and to fall again on the rough stony path.I could do no more. I had no strength to move, but I could think acutely, and feel, as I longed for the strength of Uncle Jack, and to hold in my hand a good stout but limber cane.Yes, I could feel plainly enough the young ruffians dragging at me, and in their eagerness and number fighting one against the other.“In wi’ him!”“Dook him, lads!”“Now, then, all together!”I heard all these cries mingled together, and mixed up with the busy hands and faces, I seemed to see the row of houses, the clear sky, the waters of the dam, and Gentles the grinder leaning against a door and looking on.I was being lifted amidst shouts and laughter, and I knew that the next moment I should be in the dam, when there was a tremendous splash, and some drops of water sprinkled my face.Then there was the rattle of the handle of a bucket, and another splash heard above all the yelling and shouting of the boys. There was the hollow sound of a pail banged against something hard, and mingled with cries, shouts, laughter, and ejaculations of pain I felt myself fall upon the path, to be kicked and trampled on by someone contending, for there were slaps, and thuds, and blows, the panting and hissing of breath; and then the clanging of bells near and bells far, buzzing in ears, the rush and scuffling of feet, with shouts of derision, defiance, and laughter, and then, last of all, a curious cloud of mist seemed to close me in like the fog on the Dome Tor, and out of this a shrill angry voice cried:“Ah, ye may shout, but some on ye got it. Go and dry yourselves at the furnace, you cowardly young shacks. Hey, bud I wish I’d hed holt o’ yon stick!”“Yon stick!” I felt must be mine; but my head was aching, and I seemed to go to sleep.“I wish you’d be quiet,” I remember saying. “Let me be.”“Fetch some more watter, mester,” said a pleasant voice, and a rough hand was laid upon my forehead, but only to be taken away again, and that which had vexed and irritated we went on again, and in a dreamy way I knew it was a sponge that was being passed over my face.“I fetched Mester Tom one wi’ bottom o’ the boocket, and I got one kick at Tom, and when the two boys come home to-night they’ll get such a leathering as they never hed before.”“Nay, let ’em be,” said a familiar voice.“Let ’em be! D’ye think I’m going to hev my bairns grow up such shacks? Nay, that I wean’t, so yo’ may like it or no. I’d be shamed o’ my sen to stand by and let that pack o’ boys half kill the young gentleman like that.”“I warn’t going to stop ’em.”“Not you, mester. Yow’d sooner set ’em on, like you do your mates, and nice things come on it wi’ your strikes and powder, and your wife and bairns wi’ empty cupboard. Yow on’y let me know o’ next meeting, and if I don’t come and give the men a bit o’ my mind, my name arn’t Jane Gentles.”“Yow’d best keep thy tongue still.”“Mebbe you think so, my man, but I don’t.”My senses had come back, and I was staring about at the clean kitchen I was in, with carefully blackleaded grate and red-brick floor. Against the open door, looking out upon the dam, and smoking his pipe, stood—there was no mistaking him—our late man, Gentles; while over me with a sponge in her hand, and a basin of water by her on a chair, was a big broad-shouldered woman with great bare arms and a pleasant homely face, whose dark hair was neatly kept and streaked with grey.She saw that I was coming to, and smiled down at me, showing a set of very white teeth, and her plump face looked motherly and pleasant as she bent down and laid her hand upon my forehead.“That’s bonny,” she said, nodding her head at me. “You lie still a bit and I’ll mak you a cup o’ tea, and yo’ll be aw reight again. I’m glad I caught ’em at it. Some on ’em’s going to hev sore bones for that job, and so I tell ’em.”I took her hand and held it in mine, feeling very weak and dreamy still, and I saw Gentles shift round and give me a hasty glance, and then twist himself more round with his back to me.“Howd up a minute,” she said, passing one strong arm under me and lifting me as if I had been a baby; and almost before I had realised it she slipped off my jacket and placed a cushion beneath my head.“There, now, lie still,” she said, dabbing my wet hair with a towel. “Go to sleep if you can.”By this time she was at the other end of the common print-covered couch on which I lay and unlacing my boots, which she drew off.“There, now thou’lt be easy, my lad. What would thy poor moother say if she saw thee this how?”I wanted to thank her, but I was too dreamy and exhausted to speak; but I had a strange feeling of dread, and that was, that if I were left alone with Gentles he would, out of revenge, lay hold of me and throw me into the dam, and to strengthen my fancy I saw him keep turning his head in a furtive way to glance at me.“Here,” exclaimed the woman sharply, “take these here boots out to the back, mester, and clean ’em while I brush his coat.”“Eh?” said Gentles.“Tak them boots out and brush ’em. Are yo’ deaf?”“Nay, I’m not going to clean his boots,” growled Gentles.“Not going to clean the bairn’s boots!” said the woman sharply; “but I think thou art.”She left me, went to the door, took Gentles’ pipe from his mouth, and then thrust the boots under his arm, laying a great hand upon his shoulder directly after, and seeming to lead him to a door behind me, through which she pushed him, with an order to make haste.“Yes,” she said, tightening her lips, and smiling, as she nodded to me, “I’m mester here, and they hev to mind. Was it thou as set the big trap ketched my mester by the leg?”I never felt more taken aback in my life; but I spoke out boldly, and said that it was I.“And sarve him right. Be a lesson to him. Mixing himself up wi’ such business. I towd him if he crep into people’s places o’ neets, when he owt to hev been fast asleep i’ bed wi’ his wife and bairns, he must reckon on being ketched like a rat. I’d like to knock some o’ their heads together, I would. They’re allus feitin’ agen the mesters, and generally for nowt, and it’s ooz as has to suffer.”Mrs Gentles had told me to try and sleep, and she meant well; but there were two things which, had I been so disposed, would thoroughly have prevented it, and they were the dread of Gentles doing something to be revenged upon me, and his wife’s tongue.For she went on chattering away to me in the most confidential manner, busying herself all the time in brushing my dusty jacket on a very white three-legged table, after giving the cloth a preliminary beating outside.“There,” she said, hanging it on a chair; “by and by you shall get up and brush your hair, and I’ll give you a brush down, and then with clean boots you will not be so very much the worse.”She then sat down to some needlework, stitching away busily, and giving me all sorts of information about her family—how she had two boys out at work at Bandy’s, taking it for granted that I knew who Bandy’s were; that she had her eldest girl in service, and the next helping her aunt Betsey, and the other four were at school.All of which was, no doubt, very interesting to her; but the only part that took my attention was about her two boys, who had, I knew, from what I overheard, been in the pack that had so cruelly hunted me down.And all this while I could hear the slowbrush, brushat my boots, evidently outside the back-door, and I half expected to have them brought back ripped, or with something sharp inside to injure me when I put them on.At last, after Mrs Gentles had made several allusions to how long “the mester” was “wi’ they boots,” he came in, limping slightly, and after closing the door dropped them on the brick floor.“Why, Sam!” exclaimed Mrs Gentles, “I’d be ashamed o’ mysen—that I would!”But Gentles did not seem to be in the slightest degree ashamed of himself, but took his pipe from the shelf, where his wife had laid it, struck a match, relit it, and went off with his hands in his pockets.Mrs Gentles rose and followed him to the door, and then returned, with her lips tightened and an angry look in her face.“Now he’s gone off to booblic,” she said angrily, “to hatch up and mess about and contrive all sorts o’ mischief wi’ them as leads him on. Oh the times I’ve telled him as they might make up all the differ by spending the time in work that they do in striking again’ a sixpence took off or to get one putt on! Ay, but we missuses have but a sorry time!”The absence of Gentles’ furtive look sent back at me from the door seemed to change the effect of his wife’s voice, which by degrees grew soothing and soft, and soon after I dropped off asleep, and dreamed of a curious clinking going on, from which dream I awoke, with my head cooler, and Mrs Gentles bending over me and fanning my face with what looked like an old copy-book.I looked at her wonderingly.“That’s better,” she said. “Now set up and I’ll help thee dress; and here’s a nice cup of tea ready.”“Oh, thank you!” I said. “What time is it?”“Close upon five, and I thowt you’d be better now after some tea.”She helped me on with my jacket, and I winced with pain, I was so stiff and sore. After this she insisted upon putting on my boots.“Just as if I heven’t done such things hundreds of times,” she said cheerfully. “Why, I used to put on the mester’s and tak ’em off all the time his leg was bad.”“I’m sorry I set that trap,” I said, looking up at her rough, pleasant face, and wondering how such a sneaking, malignant fellow could have won so good a wife.“I’m not,” she said laughing. “It sarved him right, so say no more about it.”That tea was like nectar, and seemed to clear my head, so that I felt nearly recovered save when I tried to rise, and then I was in a good deal of pain. But I deemed myself equal to going, and was about to start when I missed my cap.“Hey, but that’ll be gone,” she said. “Oh, they boys! Well, yow must hev Dick’s.”Before I could protest she went upstairs, and returned with a decent-looking cap, which I promised to return, and then, bidding my Samaritan-like hostess good-bye, I walked firmly out of her sight, and then literally began to hobble, and was glad as soon as I could get into the main road to hail one of the town cabs and be driven home, not feeling strong enough to go to the works and tell of my mishap.Mr Tomplin came in that evening after Uncle Dick had heard all my narrative and Uncle Bob had walked up and down the room, driving his fist into his hand every now and then with a loudpat.We had had a long conversation, in which I had taken part with a terribly aching head, and I should have gone to bed only I would not show the white feather.For they all three made this a reason why I should give up to them, and after all go back.“You see the men are dead against us, Cob, and the boys follow suit, and are against you.” So said Uncle Dick.“All the men are not against you,” I said. “Look at Pannell! He has come round, and,” I added, with a laugh that hurt me horribly, “I shall have some of the boys come round and help me.”“The young scoundrels!” cried Uncle Bob.Pat—that was his fist coming down into his hand. “The young scoundrels!”“Well, you’ve said that twenty times at least, Bob,” said Uncle Jack.“Enough to make me!” said Uncle Bob sharply. “The young scoundrels!”Pat.“I only wish I’d been there with a good handy riding-whip,” said Uncle Jack. “There would have been some wailing among them.”“Yes; and summonses for assault, and all that bother,” said Uncle Dick. “We don’t want to come to blows, Jack, if we can help it.”“They are beyond bearing,” cried Uncle Bob, keeping up his walk; “the young scoundrels!”Pat.“My dear Bob,” cried Uncle Dick, who was very much out of temper; “if you would be kind enough to leave off that trot up and down.”“Like a hungry lion,” said Uncle Jack.“In the Zoo,” cried Uncle Dick, “you would very much oblige me.”“I can’t sit down,” said Uncle Bob, thumping his hand. “I feel too much excited.”“Then bottle it up for future use,” said Uncle Dick. “You really must.”“To attack and hurt the boy in that way! It’s scandalous. The young ruffians—the young savages!”Just then Mr Tomplin came in, looked sharply round, and saw there was something wrong.“I beg your pardon,” he said quickly; “I’ll look in another time.”“No, no,” said Uncle Bob. “Pray sit down. We want your advice. A cruel assault upon our nephew here”—and he related the whole affair.“Humph!” ejaculated Mr Tomplin, looking hard at me.“What should you advise—warrants against the ringleaders?”“Summonses, Mr Robert, I presume,” said Mr Tomplin. “But you don’t know who they were?”“Yes; oh, yes!” cried Uncle Bob eagerly. “Two young Gentles.”“But you said the mother saved our young friend here from the lads, dowsed them and trounced them with a pail, and made her husband clean his boots, while she nursed him and made him tea.”“Ye–es,” said Uncle Bob.“Well, my dear sir, when you get summonses out against boys—a practice to which I have a very great objection—it is the parents who suffer more than their offspring.”“And serve them right, sir, for bringing their boys up so badly.”“Yes, I suppose so; but boys will be boys,” said Mr Tomplin.“I don’t mind their being boys,” said Uncle Bob angrily; “what I do object to is their being young savages. Why, sir, they half-killed my nephew.”“But he has escaped, my dear sir, and, as I understand it, the mother has threatened to—er—er—leather the boys well, that was, I think, her term—”“Yes,” I said, rather gleefully, “leather them.”“And judging from the description I have heard of this Amazon-like lady, who makes her husband obey her like a sheep, the young gentlemen’s skins will undergo rather a severe tanning process. Now, don’t you think you had better let the matter stand as it is? And, speaking on thelex talionisprinciple, our young friend Jacob here ought to be able to handle his fists, and on the first occasion when he met one of his enemies he might perhaps give him a thrashing. I don’t advise it, for it is illegal, but he might perhaps by accident. It would have a good effect.”“But you are always for letting things drop, Mr Tomplin,” said Uncle Bob peevishly.“Yes; I don’t like my friends to go to law—or appeal to the law, as one may say. I am a lawyer, and I lose by giving such advice, I know.”“Mr Tomplin’s right, Bob,” said Uncle Jack. “You think of that boy as if he were sugar. I’m sure he does not want to take any steps; do you, Cob?”“No,” I said; “if I may—”I stopped short.“May what?”“Have a few lessons in boxing. I hate fighting; but I should like to thrash that big boy who kept hitting me most.”
“Who’s for a walk?” said Uncle Dick one morning. “I’m going up the hills to the millstone-grit quarry.”
I started, and my heart gave a throb, but I did not look up.
“I can’t go,” said Uncle Jack.
“And I’m busy,” said Uncle Bob.
“Then I shall have to put up with Cob,” said Uncle Dick gloomily. “Will you come, my lad?”
“Will I come!” I cried, jumping and feeling as if I should like to shout for joy, so delightful seemed the idea of getting away into the hills, and having one of our old walks.
“Well, it must be at mid-day, and you will have to meet me out at Ranflitt.”
“Two miles on the road?” I said.
“Yes; you be there, and if I’m not waiting I sha’n’t be long, and we’ll go on together.”
“What time shall I start?” I asked.
“When the men go to their dinner will do. I have some business at the far end of the town, and it will not be worth while for me to come back. I’ll take the other road.”
So it was settled, and I took my big stick down to the office, and a net satchel that was handy for anything when slung from the right shoulder and under my left arm. Before now it had carried fish, partridges, fruits, herbs, roots of plants, and oftener than anything else, lunch.
That seemed to be a long morning, although I wrote hard all the time so as to get a good day’s work over first; but at last the dinner-bell rang, and, saying good-bye to the others, I slipped the satchel into my pocket, took my stick, and started.
We had not thought of those who would be loitering about during their dinner-hour, but I soon found that they were thinking of me, for not only were our own men about the streets, but the men of the many other works around; and to my dismay I soon found that they all knew me by sight, and that they were ready to take notice of me in a very unpleasant way.
I was walking steadily on when a stone hit me in the leg, and instead of making haste and getting out of range, I stopped short and looked round angrily for my assailant.
I could see a dozen grinning faces, but it was of course impossible to tell who threw, and before I turned back an oyster-shell struck me in the back.
I turned round angrily and found myself the object of a tremendous shout of laughter.
Almost at the same moment I was struck by an old cabbage-stump and by a potato, while stones in plenty flew by my head.
“The cowards!” I said to myself as I strode on, looking to right and left, and seeing that on both sides of the way a number of rough boys were collecting, encouraged by the laughter and cheers of their elders.
We had not a single boy at our works, but I could see several of our men were joining in the sport, to them, of having me hunted.
To have a good hunt, though, it is necessary to have a good quarry, that is to say, the object hunted must be something that will run.
Now, in imagination I saw myself rushing away pursued by a mob of lads, hooting, yelling, and pelting me; but I felt not the slightest inclination to be hunted in this fashion, and hence it was that I walked steadily and watchfully on, stick in hand, and prepared to use it too, if the necessity arose.
Unfortunately I was in a road where missiles were plentiful, and these came flying about me, one every now and then giving me such a stinging blow that I winced with pain. The boys danced round me, too, coming nearer as they grew bolder from my non-resistance, and before long they began to make rushes, hooting and yelling to startle me, no doubt, into running away.
But so far they did not succeed; and as I continued my walking they changed their tactics, keeping out of reach of my stout stick, and taking to stones and anything that came to hand.
I could do nothing. To have turned round would only have been to receive the objects thrown in my face; and when at last, stung into action by a harder blow than usual, I did turn and make a rush at the boy I believed to have thrown, he gave way and the others opened out to let me pass, and then closed up and followed.
It was a foolish movement on my part, and I found I had lost ground, for to get on my way again I had to pass through a body of about a dozen lads, and the only way to do this as they gathered themselves ready to receive me, was by making a bold rush through them.
They were already whispering together, and one of them cried “Now!” when I made a rush at them, stick in hand, running as fast as I could.
They made a show of stopping me, but opened out directly, and as soon as I had passed yelled to their companions to come on, with the result that I found I could not stop unless I stood at bay, and that I was doing the very thing I had determined not to do—racing away from my pursuers, who, in a pack of about forty, were yelling, crying, and in full chase.
To stop now was impossible: all that was open to me was to run hard and get into the more open suburb, leaving them behind, while I had the satisfaction of knowing that before long the bells at the different works would be ringing, and the young vagabonds obliged to hurry back to their places, leaving me free to maintain my course.
So that, now I was involuntarily started, I determined to leave my pursuers behind, and I ran.
I don’t think I ever ran so fast before, but fast as I ran I soon found that several of the lightly clothed old-looking lads were more than my equals, and they kept so close that some half a dozen were ready to rush in on me at any moment and seize me and drag me back.
I was determined, though, that they should not do that, and, grasping my stick, I ran on, more blindly, though, each moment. ’Tis true, I thought of making for the outskirts and tiring the boys out; but to my dismay I found that fresh lads kept joining in the chase, all eager and delighted to have something to run down and buffet, while my breath was coming thickly, my heart beat faster and faster, and there was a terrible burning sensation in my chest.
I looked to right for some means of escape, but there was none; to left was the same; behind me the tolling pack; while before me stretched the lanes, and mill after mill with great dams beyond them similar to ours.
I should have stopped at bay, hoping by facing the lads to keep them off; but I was streaming with perspiration, and so weak that I knew, in spite of my excitement, that I should hardly be able to lift my arm.
On and on, more and more blindly, feeling moment by moment as if my aching legs would give way beneath me. I gazed wildly at my pursuers to ask for a little mercy, but unfortunately for me they, excited and hot with their chase, were as cruel as boys can be, and men too at such a time.
There was nothing for it but to rush on at a pace that was fast degenerating into a staggering trot, and in imagination, as the boys pushed me and buffeted me with their caps, I saw myself tripped up, thrown down, kicked, and rolled in the dust, and so much exhausted that I could not help myself.
One chance gave me a little more energy. It must be nearly time for the bells to ring, and then they would be bound to give up the pursuit; but as I struggled I caught sight of a clock, and saw that it wanted a quarter of an hour yet.
There were some men lounging against a wall, and I cried out to them, but they hardly turned their heads, and as I was hurried and driven by I saw that they only laughed as if this were excellent sport.
Next we passed a couple of well-dressed ladies, but they fled into a gateway to avoid my pursuers, and the next minute I was hustled round a corner, the centre of the whooping, laughing crowd, and, to my horror, I found that we were in a narrow path with a row of stone cottages on one side, the wall of a dam like our own, and only a few inches above the water on the other.
I had felt dazed and confused before. Now I saw my danger clearly enough and the object of the lads.
I was streaming with perspiration, and so weak that I could hardly stand, but, to avoid being thrust in, and perhaps held under water and ducked and buffeted over and over again, I felt that I must make a plunge and try and swim to the other side.
But I dared not attempt it, even if I could have got clear; and blindly struggling on I had about reached the middle of the dam path when a foot was thrust out, and I fell.
Sobbing for my breath, beaten with fists, buffeted and blinded with the blows of the young savages’ caps, I struggled to my feet once more, but only to be tripped and to fall again on the rough stony path.
I could do no more. I had no strength to move, but I could think acutely, and feel, as I longed for the strength of Uncle Jack, and to hold in my hand a good stout but limber cane.
Yes, I could feel plainly enough the young ruffians dragging at me, and in their eagerness and number fighting one against the other.
“In wi’ him!”
“Dook him, lads!”
“Now, then, all together!”
I heard all these cries mingled together, and mixed up with the busy hands and faces, I seemed to see the row of houses, the clear sky, the waters of the dam, and Gentles the grinder leaning against a door and looking on.
I was being lifted amidst shouts and laughter, and I knew that the next moment I should be in the dam, when there was a tremendous splash, and some drops of water sprinkled my face.
Then there was the rattle of the handle of a bucket, and another splash heard above all the yelling and shouting of the boys. There was the hollow sound of a pail banged against something hard, and mingled with cries, shouts, laughter, and ejaculations of pain I felt myself fall upon the path, to be kicked and trampled on by someone contending, for there were slaps, and thuds, and blows, the panting and hissing of breath; and then the clanging of bells near and bells far, buzzing in ears, the rush and scuffling of feet, with shouts of derision, defiance, and laughter, and then, last of all, a curious cloud of mist seemed to close me in like the fog on the Dome Tor, and out of this a shrill angry voice cried:
“Ah, ye may shout, but some on ye got it. Go and dry yourselves at the furnace, you cowardly young shacks. Hey, bud I wish I’d hed holt o’ yon stick!”
“Yon stick!” I felt must be mine; but my head was aching, and I seemed to go to sleep.
“I wish you’d be quiet,” I remember saying. “Let me be.”
“Fetch some more watter, mester,” said a pleasant voice, and a rough hand was laid upon my forehead, but only to be taken away again, and that which had vexed and irritated we went on again, and in a dreamy way I knew it was a sponge that was being passed over my face.
“I fetched Mester Tom one wi’ bottom o’ the boocket, and I got one kick at Tom, and when the two boys come home to-night they’ll get such a leathering as they never hed before.”
“Nay, let ’em be,” said a familiar voice.
“Let ’em be! D’ye think I’m going to hev my bairns grow up such shacks? Nay, that I wean’t, so yo’ may like it or no. I’d be shamed o’ my sen to stand by and let that pack o’ boys half kill the young gentleman like that.”
“I warn’t going to stop ’em.”
“Not you, mester. Yow’d sooner set ’em on, like you do your mates, and nice things come on it wi’ your strikes and powder, and your wife and bairns wi’ empty cupboard. Yow on’y let me know o’ next meeting, and if I don’t come and give the men a bit o’ my mind, my name arn’t Jane Gentles.”
“Yow’d best keep thy tongue still.”
“Mebbe you think so, my man, but I don’t.”
My senses had come back, and I was staring about at the clean kitchen I was in, with carefully blackleaded grate and red-brick floor. Against the open door, looking out upon the dam, and smoking his pipe, stood—there was no mistaking him—our late man, Gentles; while over me with a sponge in her hand, and a basin of water by her on a chair, was a big broad-shouldered woman with great bare arms and a pleasant homely face, whose dark hair was neatly kept and streaked with grey.
She saw that I was coming to, and smiled down at me, showing a set of very white teeth, and her plump face looked motherly and pleasant as she bent down and laid her hand upon my forehead.
“That’s bonny,” she said, nodding her head at me. “You lie still a bit and I’ll mak you a cup o’ tea, and yo’ll be aw reight again. I’m glad I caught ’em at it. Some on ’em’s going to hev sore bones for that job, and so I tell ’em.”
I took her hand and held it in mine, feeling very weak and dreamy still, and I saw Gentles shift round and give me a hasty glance, and then twist himself more round with his back to me.
“Howd up a minute,” she said, passing one strong arm under me and lifting me as if I had been a baby; and almost before I had realised it she slipped off my jacket and placed a cushion beneath my head.
“There, now, lie still,” she said, dabbing my wet hair with a towel. “Go to sleep if you can.”
By this time she was at the other end of the common print-covered couch on which I lay and unlacing my boots, which she drew off.
“There, now thou’lt be easy, my lad. What would thy poor moother say if she saw thee this how?”
I wanted to thank her, but I was too dreamy and exhausted to speak; but I had a strange feeling of dread, and that was, that if I were left alone with Gentles he would, out of revenge, lay hold of me and throw me into the dam, and to strengthen my fancy I saw him keep turning his head in a furtive way to glance at me.
“Here,” exclaimed the woman sharply, “take these here boots out to the back, mester, and clean ’em while I brush his coat.”
“Eh?” said Gentles.
“Tak them boots out and brush ’em. Are yo’ deaf?”
“Nay, I’m not going to clean his boots,” growled Gentles.
“Not going to clean the bairn’s boots!” said the woman sharply; “but I think thou art.”
She left me, went to the door, took Gentles’ pipe from his mouth, and then thrust the boots under his arm, laying a great hand upon his shoulder directly after, and seeming to lead him to a door behind me, through which she pushed him, with an order to make haste.
“Yes,” she said, tightening her lips, and smiling, as she nodded to me, “I’m mester here, and they hev to mind. Was it thou as set the big trap ketched my mester by the leg?”
I never felt more taken aback in my life; but I spoke out boldly, and said that it was I.
“And sarve him right. Be a lesson to him. Mixing himself up wi’ such business. I towd him if he crep into people’s places o’ neets, when he owt to hev been fast asleep i’ bed wi’ his wife and bairns, he must reckon on being ketched like a rat. I’d like to knock some o’ their heads together, I would. They’re allus feitin’ agen the mesters, and generally for nowt, and it’s ooz as has to suffer.”
Mrs Gentles had told me to try and sleep, and she meant well; but there were two things which, had I been so disposed, would thoroughly have prevented it, and they were the dread of Gentles doing something to be revenged upon me, and his wife’s tongue.
For she went on chattering away to me in the most confidential manner, busying herself all the time in brushing my dusty jacket on a very white three-legged table, after giving the cloth a preliminary beating outside.
“There,” she said, hanging it on a chair; “by and by you shall get up and brush your hair, and I’ll give you a brush down, and then with clean boots you will not be so very much the worse.”
She then sat down to some needlework, stitching away busily, and giving me all sorts of information about her family—how she had two boys out at work at Bandy’s, taking it for granted that I knew who Bandy’s were; that she had her eldest girl in service, and the next helping her aunt Betsey, and the other four were at school.
All of which was, no doubt, very interesting to her; but the only part that took my attention was about her two boys, who had, I knew, from what I overheard, been in the pack that had so cruelly hunted me down.
And all this while I could hear the slowbrush, brushat my boots, evidently outside the back-door, and I half expected to have them brought back ripped, or with something sharp inside to injure me when I put them on.
At last, after Mrs Gentles had made several allusions to how long “the mester” was “wi’ they boots,” he came in, limping slightly, and after closing the door dropped them on the brick floor.
“Why, Sam!” exclaimed Mrs Gentles, “I’d be ashamed o’ mysen—that I would!”
But Gentles did not seem to be in the slightest degree ashamed of himself, but took his pipe from the shelf, where his wife had laid it, struck a match, relit it, and went off with his hands in his pockets.
Mrs Gentles rose and followed him to the door, and then returned, with her lips tightened and an angry look in her face.
“Now he’s gone off to booblic,” she said angrily, “to hatch up and mess about and contrive all sorts o’ mischief wi’ them as leads him on. Oh the times I’ve telled him as they might make up all the differ by spending the time in work that they do in striking again’ a sixpence took off or to get one putt on! Ay, but we missuses have but a sorry time!”
The absence of Gentles’ furtive look sent back at me from the door seemed to change the effect of his wife’s voice, which by degrees grew soothing and soft, and soon after I dropped off asleep, and dreamed of a curious clinking going on, from which dream I awoke, with my head cooler, and Mrs Gentles bending over me and fanning my face with what looked like an old copy-book.
I looked at her wonderingly.
“That’s better,” she said. “Now set up and I’ll help thee dress; and here’s a nice cup of tea ready.”
“Oh, thank you!” I said. “What time is it?”
“Close upon five, and I thowt you’d be better now after some tea.”
She helped me on with my jacket, and I winced with pain, I was so stiff and sore. After this she insisted upon putting on my boots.
“Just as if I heven’t done such things hundreds of times,” she said cheerfully. “Why, I used to put on the mester’s and tak ’em off all the time his leg was bad.”
“I’m sorry I set that trap,” I said, looking up at her rough, pleasant face, and wondering how such a sneaking, malignant fellow could have won so good a wife.
“I’m not,” she said laughing. “It sarved him right, so say no more about it.”
That tea was like nectar, and seemed to clear my head, so that I felt nearly recovered save when I tried to rise, and then I was in a good deal of pain. But I deemed myself equal to going, and was about to start when I missed my cap.
“Hey, but that’ll be gone,” she said. “Oh, they boys! Well, yow must hev Dick’s.”
Before I could protest she went upstairs, and returned with a decent-looking cap, which I promised to return, and then, bidding my Samaritan-like hostess good-bye, I walked firmly out of her sight, and then literally began to hobble, and was glad as soon as I could get into the main road to hail one of the town cabs and be driven home, not feeling strong enough to go to the works and tell of my mishap.
Mr Tomplin came in that evening after Uncle Dick had heard all my narrative and Uncle Bob had walked up and down the room, driving his fist into his hand every now and then with a loudpat.
We had had a long conversation, in which I had taken part with a terribly aching head, and I should have gone to bed only I would not show the white feather.
For they all three made this a reason why I should give up to them, and after all go back.
“You see the men are dead against us, Cob, and the boys follow suit, and are against you.” So said Uncle Dick.
“All the men are not against you,” I said. “Look at Pannell! He has come round, and,” I added, with a laugh that hurt me horribly, “I shall have some of the boys come round and help me.”
“The young scoundrels!” cried Uncle Bob.Pat—that was his fist coming down into his hand. “The young scoundrels!”
“Well, you’ve said that twenty times at least, Bob,” said Uncle Jack.
“Enough to make me!” said Uncle Bob sharply. “The young scoundrels!”Pat.
“I only wish I’d been there with a good handy riding-whip,” said Uncle Jack. “There would have been some wailing among them.”
“Yes; and summonses for assault, and all that bother,” said Uncle Dick. “We don’t want to come to blows, Jack, if we can help it.”
“They are beyond bearing,” cried Uncle Bob, keeping up his walk; “the young scoundrels!”Pat.
“My dear Bob,” cried Uncle Dick, who was very much out of temper; “if you would be kind enough to leave off that trot up and down.”
“Like a hungry lion,” said Uncle Jack.
“In the Zoo,” cried Uncle Dick, “you would very much oblige me.”
“I can’t sit down,” said Uncle Bob, thumping his hand. “I feel too much excited.”
“Then bottle it up for future use,” said Uncle Dick. “You really must.”
“To attack and hurt the boy in that way! It’s scandalous. The young ruffians—the young savages!”
Just then Mr Tomplin came in, looked sharply round, and saw there was something wrong.
“I beg your pardon,” he said quickly; “I’ll look in another time.”
“No, no,” said Uncle Bob. “Pray sit down. We want your advice. A cruel assault upon our nephew here”—and he related the whole affair.
“Humph!” ejaculated Mr Tomplin, looking hard at me.
“What should you advise—warrants against the ringleaders?”
“Summonses, Mr Robert, I presume,” said Mr Tomplin. “But you don’t know who they were?”
“Yes; oh, yes!” cried Uncle Bob eagerly. “Two young Gentles.”
“But you said the mother saved our young friend here from the lads, dowsed them and trounced them with a pail, and made her husband clean his boots, while she nursed him and made him tea.”
“Ye–es,” said Uncle Bob.
“Well, my dear sir, when you get summonses out against boys—a practice to which I have a very great objection—it is the parents who suffer more than their offspring.”
“And serve them right, sir, for bringing their boys up so badly.”
“Yes, I suppose so; but boys will be boys,” said Mr Tomplin.
“I don’t mind their being boys,” said Uncle Bob angrily; “what I do object to is their being young savages. Why, sir, they half-killed my nephew.”
“But he has escaped, my dear sir, and, as I understand it, the mother has threatened to—er—er—leather the boys well, that was, I think, her term—”
“Yes,” I said, rather gleefully, “leather them.”
“And judging from the description I have heard of this Amazon-like lady, who makes her husband obey her like a sheep, the young gentlemen’s skins will undergo rather a severe tanning process. Now, don’t you think you had better let the matter stand as it is? And, speaking on thelex talionisprinciple, our young friend Jacob here ought to be able to handle his fists, and on the first occasion when he met one of his enemies he might perhaps give him a thrashing. I don’t advise it, for it is illegal, but he might perhaps by accident. It would have a good effect.”
“But you are always for letting things drop, Mr Tomplin,” said Uncle Bob peevishly.
“Yes; I don’t like my friends to go to law—or appeal to the law, as one may say. I am a lawyer, and I lose by giving such advice, I know.”
“Mr Tomplin’s right, Bob,” said Uncle Jack. “You think of that boy as if he were sugar. I’m sure he does not want to take any steps; do you, Cob?”
“No,” I said; “if I may—”
I stopped short.
“May what?”
“Have a few lessons in boxing. I hate fighting; but I should like to thrash that big boy who kept hitting me most.”
Chapter Twenty Four.Uncle Jack and I have a Run.I did not have any lessons in boxing, in spite of my earnest desire.“We do not want to be aggressors, Cob,” said my Uncle Dick.“But we want to defend ourselves, uncle.”“To be sure we do, my lad,” he said; “and we’ll be ready as we can when we are attacked; but I don’t see the necessity for training ourselves to fight.”So I did not meet and thrash my enemy, but went steadily on with my duties at the works.In fact I was very little the worse for my adventure, thanks to Mrs Gentles, to whom I returned the cap she had lent me and thanked her warmly for her goodness.She seemed very pleased to see me, and told me that her “mester” was quite well, only his leg was a little stiff, and that he was at work now with her boys.The matters seemed now to have taken a sudden turn, as Mr Tomplin said they would: the men were evidently getting over their dislike to us and the new steel, making it up and grinding it in an ill-used, half contemptuous sort of way, and at last the necessity for watching by night seemed so slight that we gave it up.But it was felt that it would not be wise to give up the air of keeping the place looked after by night, so old Dunning the gate-keeper was consulted, and he knew of the very man—one who had been a night watchman all his life and was now out of work through the failure of the firm by whom he had been employed.In due time the man came—a tall, very stout fellow, of about sixty, with a fierce look and a presence that was enough to keep away mischief by the fact of its being known that he was there.He came twice, and was engaged to be on duty every night at nine; and in the conversation that ensued in the office he took rather a gruff, independent tone, which was mingled with contempt as he was told of the attempts that had been made.“Yes,” he said coolly; “it’s a way the hands have wherever new folk come and don’t hev a reg’lar watchman. There wouldn’t hev been none of that sort o’ thing if I had been here.”“Then you don’t expect any more troubles of this kind?”“More! Not likely, mester. We’ve ways of our own down here; and as soon as the lads know that Tom Searby’s on as watchman there’ll be no more trouble.”“I hope there will not,” said Uncle Dick as soon as the man had gone. “It will be worth all his wages to be able to sleep in peace.”About this time there had been some talk of my father and mother coming down to Arrowfield, but once more difficulties arose in town which necessitated my father’s stay, and as my mother was rather delicate, it was decided that she should not be brought up into the cold north till the springtime came again.“All work and no play makes—you know the rest,” said Uncle Jack one morning at breakfast. “I won’t say it, because it sounds egotistic. Cob, what do you say? Let’s ask for a holiday.”“Why not all four go?” I said eagerly; for though the works were very interesting and I enjoyed seeing the work go oil, I was ready enough to get away, and so sure as the sun shone brightly I felt a great longing to be off from the soot and noise to where the great hills were a-bloom with heather and gorse, and tramp where I pleased.Uncle Dick shook his head.“No,” he said; “two of us stay—two go. You fellows have a run to-day, and we’ll take our turn another time.”We were too busy to waste time, and in high glee away we went, with no special aim in view, only to get out of the town as soon as possible, and off to the hills.Uncle Jack was a stern, hard man in the works, but as soon as he went out for a holiday he used to take off twenty years, as he said, and leave them at home, so that I seemed to have a big lad of my own age for companion.It was a glorious morning, and our way lay by the works and then on past a series of “wheels” up the valley, in fact the same route I had taken that day when I was hunted by the boys.But I had Uncle Jack by my side, and in addition it was past breakfast time, and the boys were at work.We had nearly reached the dam into which I had so narrowly escaped a ducking, and I was wondering whether Uncle Jack would mind my just running to speak to the big honest woman in the row of houses we were about to pass, when he stood still.“What is it?” I said.“Cob, my lad,” he cried, “I want a new head or a new set of brains, or something. I’ve totally forgotten to ask your Uncle Dick to write to the engineer about the boiler.”“Let me run back,” I said.“Won’t do, my boy; must see him myself. There, you keep steadily on along the road as if we were bound for Leadshire, and I’ll overtake you in less than half an hour.”“But,” I said, “I was going this way to meet Uncle Dick that day when he went to buy the stones, and what a holiday that turned out!”“I don’t think history will repeat itself this time, Cob,” he replied.“But will you be able to find me again?”“I can’t help it if you keep to the road. If you jump over the first hedge you come to, and go rambling over the hills, of course I shall not find you.”“Then there is no fear,” I said; and he walked sharply back, while I strode on slowly and stopped by the open window of one factory, where a couple of men were spinning teapots.“Spinning teapots!” I fancy I hear some one say; “how’s that done?”Well, it has always struck me as being so ingenious and such an example of what can be done by working on metal whirled round at a great speed, that I may interest some one in telling all I saw.The works opposite which I stopped found their motive power in a great wheel just as ours did, but instead of steel being the metal used, the firm worked in what is called Britannia metal, which is an alloy of tin, antimony, zinc, and copper, which being mixed in certain proportions form a metal having the whiteness of tin, but a solidity and firmness given by the three latter metals, that make it very durable, which tin is not.“Oh, but,” says somebody, “tin is hard enough! Look at the tin saucepans and kettles in every kitchen.”I beg pardon; those are all made of plates of iron rolled out very thin and then dipped in a bath of tin, to come out white and silvery and clean and ready to keep off rust from attacking the iron. What people call tin plates are reallytinnedplates. Tin itself is a soft metal that melts and runs like lead.As I looked through into these works, one man was busy with sheets of rolled-out Britannia metal, thrusting them beneath a stamping press, and at every clang with which this came down a piece of metal like a perfectly flat spoon was cut out and fell aside, while at a corresponding press another man was holding a sheet, and as close as possible out of this he was stamping out flat forks, which, like the spoons, were borne to other presses with dies, and as the flat spoon or fork was thrust in it received a tremendous blow, which shaped the bowl and curved the handle, while men at vices and benches finished them off with files.I had seen all this before, and how out of a flat sheet of metal what seemed like beautiful silver spoons were made; but I had never yet seen a man spin a teapot, so being holiday-time, and having to wait for Uncle Jack, I stood looking on.I presume that most boys know a lathe when they see it, and how, out of a block of wood, ivory, or metal, a beautifully round handle, chess-man, or even a perfect ball can be turned.Well, it is just such a lathe as this that the teapot spinner stands before at his work, which is to make a handsome tea or coffee-pot service.But he uses no sharp tools, and he does not turn his teapot out of a solid block of metal. His tool is a hard piece of wood, something like a child’s hoop-stick, and fixed to the spinning-round part of the lathe, the “chuck,” as a workman would call it, is a solid block of smooth wood shaped like a deep slop-basin.Up against the bottom of this wooden sugar-basin the workman places a flat round disc or plate of Britannia metal—plate is a good term, for it is about the size or a little larger than an ordinary dinner plate. A part of the lathe is screwed up against this so as to hold the plate flat up against the bottom of the wooden sugar-basin; the lathe is set in motion and the glistening white disc of metal spins round at an inconceivable rate, and becomes nearly invisible.Then the man begins to press his wooden stick up against the centre of the plate as near as he can go, and gradually draws the wooden tool from the centre towards the edge, pressing it over the wooden block of basin shape.This he does again and again, and in spite of the metal being cold, the heat of the friction, the speed at which it goes, and the ductility of the metal make it behave as if it were so much clay or putty, and in a very short time the wooden tool has moulded it from a flat disc into a metal bowl which covers the wooden block.Then the lathe is stopped, the mechanism unscrewed, and the metal bowl taken off the moulding block, which is dispensed with now, for if the spinner were to attempt to contract the edges of his bowl, as a potter does when making a jug, the wooden mould could not be taken out.So without the wooden block the metal bowl is again fixed in the lathe, sent spinning-round, the stick applied, and in a very short time the bowl, instead of being large-mouthed, is made to contract in a beautiful curve, growing smaller and smaller, till it is about one-third of its original diameter, and the metal has seemed to be plastic, and yielded to the moulding tool till a gracefully formed tall vessel is the result, with quite a narrow mouth where the lid is to be.Here the spinner’s task is at an end. He has turned a flat plate of metal into a large-bodied narrow-mouthed metal pot as easily as if the hard cold metal had been clay, and all with the lathe and a piece of wood. There are no chips, no scrapings. All the metal is in the pot, and that is now passed on to have four legs soldered on, a hole cut for the spout to be fitted; a handle placed where the handle should be, and finally hinges and a lid and polish to make it perfect and ready for someone’s tray.I stopped and saw the workman spin a couple of pots, and then thinking I should like to have a try at one of our lathes, I went on past this dam and on to the next, where I meant to have a friendly word with Mrs Gentles if her lord and master were not smoking by the door.I did not expect to see him after hearing that he was away at work; but as it happened he was there.For as I reached the path along by the side of the dam I found myself in the midst of a crowd of women and crying children, all in a state of great excitement concerning something in the dam.I hurried on to see what was the matter, and to my astonishment there was Gentles on the edge of the dam, armed with an ordinary long broom, with which he was trying to hook something out of the water—what, I could not see, for there was nothing visible.“Farther in—farther in,” a shrill voice cried, making itself heard over the gabble of fifty others. “My Jenny says he went in theer.”I was still some distance off, but I could see Gentles the unmistakable splash the broom in again, and then over and over again, while women were wringing their hands, and giving bits of advice which seemed to have no effect upon Gentles, who kept splashing away with the broom.Just then a tall figure in bonnet and shawl came hurrying from the other end of the path, and joined the group about the same time as I did.There was no mistaking Mrs Gentles without her voice, which she soon made heard.“Whose bairn is it?” she cried loudly, and throwing off her bonnet and shawl as she spoke.“Thine—it’s thy little Esau—playing on the edge—got shoved in,” was babbled out by a dozen women; while Gentles did not speak, but went on pushing in the broom, giving it a mow round like a scythe, and pulling it out.“Wheer? Oh, my gracious!” panted Mrs Gentles, “wheer did he go in?”Poor woman! A dozen hands pointed to different parts of the bank many yards apart, and I saw her turn quite white as she rushed at her husband and tore the broom from his hands.“What’s the good o’ that, thou Maulkin,” (scarecrow) she cried, giving him a push that sent him staggering away; and without a moment’s hesitation she stooped, tightened her garments round her, and jumped right into the dam, which was deeper than she thought, for she went under in the great splash she made, losing her footing, and a dread fell upon all till they saw the great stalwart woman rise and shake the water from her face, and stand chest deep, and then shoulder deep, as, sobbing hysterically, she reached out in all directions with the broom, trying to find the child.“Was it anywheers about here—anywheers about here?” she cried, as she waded to and fro in a state of frantic excitement, and a storm of affirmations responded, while her husband, who seemed quite out of place among so many women, stood rubbing his head in a stolid way.“Quiet, bairns!” shrieked one of the women, stamping her foot fiercely at the group of children who had been playing about after childhood’s fashion in the most dangerous place they could find.Her voice was magical, for it quelled a perfect babel of sobs and cries. And all the while poor Mrs Gentles was reaching out, so reckless of herself that she was where the water reached her chin, and could hardly keep her footing.“Call thysen a man!” shouted the woman who had silenced the children. “Go in or thou’llt lose thy wife and bairn too.”But Gentles paid no heed to the admonition. He stood rubbing his ear softly, though he gave a satisfied grunt as he saw the fierce virago of a woman who had spoken, leap in after Mrs Gentles, and wade out so as to hold her left hand.Where had the child tumbled in? No one knew, for the frightened little ones who had spread the news, running away home as soon as their playmate had toppled in with a splash, were too scared to remember the exact spot.I had not been idle all this time, but as the above scene was in progress I had taken off jacket, vest, and cap, handing them to a woman to hold, and had just finished kicking off my boots and socks, carefully watching the surface of the water the while, under the impression that the poor child would rise to the surface.All at once I caught sight of something far to the right of us, and evidently being taken by the current towards the sluice where the big wheel was in motion.It might be the child, or it might only be a piece of paper floating there, but I had no time to investigate that, and, running along the path till I was opposite the place, I plunged head-first in, rose, shook the water from my eyes, and swam as rapidly as my clothes would allow towards the spot.The women set up a cry and the children shrieked, and as I swam steadily on I could hear away to my left the two women come splashing and wading through the water till they were opposite to where I was swimming.“Oh, quick! Quick, my lad!” cried Mrs Gentles; and her agonised voice sent a thrill through me far more than did the shrieking chorus of the women as they shouted words of encouragement to me to proceed.I did not need the encouragement, for I was swimming my best, not making rapid strokes, but, as Uncle Jack had often shown me in river and sea, taking a long, slow, vigorous stroke, well to the end, one that is more effective, and which can be long sustained.But though I tried my best, I was still some feet from the spot where I had seen the floating object, when it seemed to fade away, and there was nothing visible when I reached the place.“There! There!” shrieked Mrs Gentles; “can’t you see him—there?”She could not see any more than I could, as I raised myself as high as possible, treading water, and then paddling round like a dog in search of something thrown in which has sunk.The little fellow had gone, and there was nothing for it but to dive, and as I had often done before, I turned over and went down into the black water to try and find the drowning child.I stayed down as long as I could, came up, and looked round amidst a tremendous chorus of cries, and then dived again like a duck.Pray, don’t think I was doing anything brave or heroic, for it seemed to me nothing of the kind. I had been so drilled by my uncles in leaping off banks, and out of a boat, and in diving after eggs thrown down in the clear water, that, save the being dressed, it was a very ordinary task to me; in fact, I believe I could have swum steadily on for an hour if there had been any need, and gone on diving as often as I liked.So I went under again and again, with the current always taking me on toward the sluice, and giving way to it; for, of course, the child would, I felt, be carried that way too.Every time I rose there was the shrieking and crying of the women and the prayerful words of the mother bidding me try; and had not her woman friend clung to her arm, I believe she would have struggled into deep water and been drowned.I caught glimpses of her, and of Gentles standing on the bank rubbing his ear as I dived down again in quite a hopeless way now, and, stopping down a much shorter time, I had given a kick or two, and was rising, when my hands touched something which glided away.This encouraged me, and I just took my breath above water, heard the cries, and dived again, to have the water thundering in my ears.For a few moments I could feel nothing; then my left hand touched a bundle of clothes, and in another moment I was at the surface with the child’s head above water, and swimming with all my might for the side.There was a wild shriek of excitement to greet me, and then there was very nearly a terrible catastrophe for finale to the scene, for, as soon as she saw that I had hold of her child, the frantic mother shook off her companion, and with a mingling of the tragic and ludicrous reached out with the broom to drag us both in.Her excitement was too much for her; she took a step forward to reach us, slipped into deep water, went under, and the next minute she had risen, snatched at me, and we were struggling together.I was quite paralysed, while the poor woman had lost her head completely, and was blind by trying to save herself—holding on to me with all her might.Under the circumstances it is no wonder that I became helpless and confused, and that we sank together in the deep water close now to the dam head, and then all was black confusion, for my sensations were very different to what they were when I made my voluntary dives.It was matter of moments, though, and then a strong hand gripped me by the arm, we were dragged to the side, and a dozen hands were ready to help us out on to the bank.“Give me the child,” said a strange voice. “Which is the house? Here—the mother and one woman, come. Keep the crowd away.”In a confused way I saw a tall man in black take the child in his arms, and I thought how wet he would make himself; while Mrs Gentles, panting and gasping for breath, seized me by the hand; and then they passed on in the middle of the crowd, augmented by a number of workmen, and disappeared into the cottage I knew so well.“What! Was it you, Uncle Jack?” I said, looking up in his grave big eyes.“Yes, my boy; and I only just came in time. How are you?”“Horribly wet,” I said grimly and with a shiver. Then forcing a laugh as he held my hands tightly in his. “Why, you’re just as bad.”“Yes, but you—are you all right?”“Oh, yes, uncle! There’s nothing the matter with me.”“Then come along and let’s run home. Never mind appearances; let’s get into some dry clothes. But I should like to hear about the child.”It was an easy thing to say, but not to do. We wanted to go to Gentles’ house, but we were surrounded by a dense crowd; and the next minute a lot of rough men were shaking both Uncle Jack’s hands and fighting one with the other to get hold of them, while I—Just fancy being in the middle of a crowd of women, and all of them wanting to throw their arms round me and kiss me at once.That was my fate then; and regardless of my resistance one motherly body after another seized me, kissing my cheeks roundly, straining me to her bosom, and calling me her “brave lad!” or her “bonny bairn!” or “my mahn!”I had to be kissed and hand-shaken till I would gladly have escaped for very shame; and at last Uncle Jack rescued me, coming to my side smiling and looking round.“If he’s thy bairn, mester,” cried the virago-like woman who had helped Mrs Gentles, “thou ought to be proud of him.”“And so I am,” cried Uncle Jack, laying his hand upon my shoulder.Here there was a loud “hurrah!” set up by the men, and the women joined in shrilly, while a couple of men with big mugs elbowed their way towards us.“Here, lay holt, mester,” said one to Uncle Jack; “drink that—it’ll keep out the cold.”At the same moment a mug was forced into my hand, and in response to a nod from Uncle Jack I took a hearty draught of some strong mixture which I believe was gin and beer.“How is the child?” said Uncle Jack.“Doctor says he can’t tell yet, but hopes he’ll pull bairn through.”“Now, my lads,” said Uncle Jack, “you don’t want us to catch cold?”“No.—Hurray!”“Nor you neither, my good women?”“Nay, God bless thee, no!” was chorused.“Then good-bye! And if one of you will run down to our place and tell us how the little child is by and by, I’ll be glad.”“Nay, thou’llt shake han’s wi’ me first,” said the big virago-like woman, whose drenched clothes clung to her from top to toe.“That I will,” cried Uncle Jack, suiting the action to the word by holding out his; but to his surprise the woman laid her hands upon his shoulders, the tears streaming down her cheeks, and kissed him in simple north-country fashion.“God bless thee, my mahn!” she said with a sob. “Thou may’st be a Lunnoner, but thou’rt a true un, and thou’st saved to-day as good a wife and mother as ever stepped.”Here there was another tremendous cheer; and to avoid fresh demonstrations I snatched my clothes from the woman who held them, and we hurried off to get back to Mrs Stephenson’s as quickly and quietly as we could.Quickly! Quietly! We were mad to expect it; for we had to go home in the midst of a rapidly-increasing crowd, who kept up volley after volley of cheers, and pressed to our sides to shake hands.That latter display of friendliness we escaped during the finish of our journey; for in spite of all Uncle Jack could do to prevent it, big as he was, they hoisted him on the shoulders of a couple of great furnacemen, a couple more carrying me, and so we were taken home.I never felt so much ashamed in my life, but there was nothing for it but to be patient; and, like most of such scenes, it came to an end by our reaching Mrs Stephenson’s and nearly frightening her to death.“Bless my heart!” she cried, “I thought there’d been some accident, and you was both brought home half-killed. Just hark at ’em! The street’s full, and the carts can hardly get by.”And so it was; for whenever, as I towelled myself into a glow, I peeped round the blind, there was the great crowd shouting and hurrahing with all their might.For the greater part they were workmen and boys, all in their shirt-sleeves and without caps; but there was a large sprinkling of big motherly women there; and the more I looked the more abashed I felt, for first one and then another seemed to be telling the story to a listening knot, as I could see by the motion of her hands imitating swimming.Two hours after we were cheered by the news that my efforts had not been in vain, for after a long fight the doctor had brought the child to; and that night, when we thought all the fuss was over, there came six great booms from a big drum, and a powerful brass band struck up, “See, the Conquering Hero comes!” Then the mob that had gathered cheered and shouted till we went to the window and thanked them; and then they cheered again, growing quite mad with excitement as a big strapping woman, in a black silk bonnet and a scarlet shawl, came up to the door and was admitted and brought into the parlour.I was horrified, for it was big Mrs Gentles, and I had a dread of another scene.I need not have been alarmed, for there was a sweet natural quietness in the woman that surprised us all, as she said with the tears running down her cheeks:“I’m only a poor common sort of woman, gentlemen, but I think a deal o’ my bairns, and I’ve come to say I’ll never forget a prayer for the bonny boy who saved my little laddie, nor for the true brave gentleman who saved me to keep them still.”Uncle Jack shook hands with her, insisting upon her having a glass of wine, but she would not sit down, and after she had drunk her wine she turned to me.I put out my hand, but she threw her arms round my neck, kissed me quickly on each cheek, and ran sobbing out of the room, and nearly oversetting Mr Tomplin, who was coming up.“Hallo, my hero!” he cried, shaking hands with me.“Please, please don’t, Mr Tomplin,” I cried. “I feel as if I’d never do such a thing again as long as I live.”“Don’t say that, my boy,” he cried. “Say it if you like, though. You don’t mean it. I say, though, you folks have done it now.”We had done more than we thought, for the next morning when we walked down to the office and Uncle Jack was saying that we must not be done out of our holiday, who should be waiting at the gate but Gentles.“Ugh!” said Uncle Jack; “there’s that scoundrel. I hate that man. I wish it had been someone else’s child you had saved, Cob. Well, my man,” he cried roughly, “what is it?”Gentles had taken off his cap, a piece of politeness very rare among his set, and he looked down on the ground for a minute or two, and then ended a painful silence by saying:“I’ve been a reg’lar bad un to you and yours, mester; but it was the traäde as made me do it.”“Well, that’s all over now, Gentles, and you’ve come to apologise?”“Yes, mester, that’s it. I’m down sorry, I am, and if you’ll tek me on again I’ll sarve you like a man—ay, and I’ll feight for thee like a man agen the traäde.”“Are you out of work?”“Nay, mester, I can always get plenty if I like to wuck.”“Do you mean what you say, Gentles?”“Why, mester, wouldn’t I hev been going to club to-day for money to bury a bairn and best wife a man ivver hed if it hadn’t been for you two. Mester, I’d do owt for you now.”“I believe you, Gentles,” said Uncle Jack in his firm way. “Go back to your stone.”Gentles smiled all over his face, and ran in before us whistling loudly with his fingers, and the men all turned out and cheered us over and over again, looking as delighted as so many boys.“Mr Tomplin’s right,” said Uncle Dick; “we’ve done it at last.”“No, not yet,” said Uncle Jack; “we’ve won the men to our side and all who know us will take our part, but there is that ugly demon to exorcise yet that they call the traäde.”That night I was going back alone when my heart gave a sort of leap, for just before me, and apparently waylaying me, were two of the boys who had been foremost in hunting me that day. My temper rose and my cheeks flushed; but they had come upon no inimical errand, for they both laughed in a tone that bespoke them the sons of Gentles, and the bigger one spoke in a bashful sort of way.“Moother said we was to come and ax your pardon, mester. It were on’y meant for a game, and she leathered us both for it.”“And will you hev this?” said the other, holding out something in a piece of brown-paper.“I sha’n’t take any more notice of it,” I said quietly; “but I don’t want any present.”“There, moother said he’d be over proud to tak it,” said the younger lad resentfully to his brother.“No, I am not too proud,” I said; “give it to me. What is it?”“Best knife they maks at our wucks,” said the boy eagerly. “It’s rare stoof. I say, we’re going to learn to swim like thou.”They both nodded and went away, leaving me thinking that I was after this to be friends with the Arrowfield boys as well as the men.They need not have put it in the newspaper, but there it was, a long account headed “Gallant rescue by a boy.” It was dressed up in a way that made my cheeks tingle, and a few days later the tears came into my eyes as I read a letter from my mother telling me she had read in the newspaper what I had done, and—There, I will not set that down. It was what my mother said, and every British boy knows what his mother would say of an accident like that.It was wonderful how the works progressed after this, and how differently the men met us. It was not only our own, but the men at all the works about us. Instead of a scowl or a stare there was a nod, and a gruff “good morning.” In fact, we seemed to have lived down the prejudice against the “chaps fro’ Lunnon, and their contrapshions;” but my uncles knew only too well that they had not mastered the invisible enemy called the trade.
I did not have any lessons in boxing, in spite of my earnest desire.
“We do not want to be aggressors, Cob,” said my Uncle Dick.
“But we want to defend ourselves, uncle.”
“To be sure we do, my lad,” he said; “and we’ll be ready as we can when we are attacked; but I don’t see the necessity for training ourselves to fight.”
So I did not meet and thrash my enemy, but went steadily on with my duties at the works.
In fact I was very little the worse for my adventure, thanks to Mrs Gentles, to whom I returned the cap she had lent me and thanked her warmly for her goodness.
She seemed very pleased to see me, and told me that her “mester” was quite well, only his leg was a little stiff, and that he was at work now with her boys.
The matters seemed now to have taken a sudden turn, as Mr Tomplin said they would: the men were evidently getting over their dislike to us and the new steel, making it up and grinding it in an ill-used, half contemptuous sort of way, and at last the necessity for watching by night seemed so slight that we gave it up.
But it was felt that it would not be wise to give up the air of keeping the place looked after by night, so old Dunning the gate-keeper was consulted, and he knew of the very man—one who had been a night watchman all his life and was now out of work through the failure of the firm by whom he had been employed.
In due time the man came—a tall, very stout fellow, of about sixty, with a fierce look and a presence that was enough to keep away mischief by the fact of its being known that he was there.
He came twice, and was engaged to be on duty every night at nine; and in the conversation that ensued in the office he took rather a gruff, independent tone, which was mingled with contempt as he was told of the attempts that had been made.
“Yes,” he said coolly; “it’s a way the hands have wherever new folk come and don’t hev a reg’lar watchman. There wouldn’t hev been none of that sort o’ thing if I had been here.”
“Then you don’t expect any more troubles of this kind?”
“More! Not likely, mester. We’ve ways of our own down here; and as soon as the lads know that Tom Searby’s on as watchman there’ll be no more trouble.”
“I hope there will not,” said Uncle Dick as soon as the man had gone. “It will be worth all his wages to be able to sleep in peace.”
About this time there had been some talk of my father and mother coming down to Arrowfield, but once more difficulties arose in town which necessitated my father’s stay, and as my mother was rather delicate, it was decided that she should not be brought up into the cold north till the springtime came again.
“All work and no play makes—you know the rest,” said Uncle Jack one morning at breakfast. “I won’t say it, because it sounds egotistic. Cob, what do you say? Let’s ask for a holiday.”
“Why not all four go?” I said eagerly; for though the works were very interesting and I enjoyed seeing the work go oil, I was ready enough to get away, and so sure as the sun shone brightly I felt a great longing to be off from the soot and noise to where the great hills were a-bloom with heather and gorse, and tramp where I pleased.
Uncle Dick shook his head.
“No,” he said; “two of us stay—two go. You fellows have a run to-day, and we’ll take our turn another time.”
We were too busy to waste time, and in high glee away we went, with no special aim in view, only to get out of the town as soon as possible, and off to the hills.
Uncle Jack was a stern, hard man in the works, but as soon as he went out for a holiday he used to take off twenty years, as he said, and leave them at home, so that I seemed to have a big lad of my own age for companion.
It was a glorious morning, and our way lay by the works and then on past a series of “wheels” up the valley, in fact the same route I had taken that day when I was hunted by the boys.
But I had Uncle Jack by my side, and in addition it was past breakfast time, and the boys were at work.
We had nearly reached the dam into which I had so narrowly escaped a ducking, and I was wondering whether Uncle Jack would mind my just running to speak to the big honest woman in the row of houses we were about to pass, when he stood still.
“What is it?” I said.
“Cob, my lad,” he cried, “I want a new head or a new set of brains, or something. I’ve totally forgotten to ask your Uncle Dick to write to the engineer about the boiler.”
“Let me run back,” I said.
“Won’t do, my boy; must see him myself. There, you keep steadily on along the road as if we were bound for Leadshire, and I’ll overtake you in less than half an hour.”
“But,” I said, “I was going this way to meet Uncle Dick that day when he went to buy the stones, and what a holiday that turned out!”
“I don’t think history will repeat itself this time, Cob,” he replied.
“But will you be able to find me again?”
“I can’t help it if you keep to the road. If you jump over the first hedge you come to, and go rambling over the hills, of course I shall not find you.”
“Then there is no fear,” I said; and he walked sharply back, while I strode on slowly and stopped by the open window of one factory, where a couple of men were spinning teapots.
“Spinning teapots!” I fancy I hear some one say; “how’s that done?”
Well, it has always struck me as being so ingenious and such an example of what can be done by working on metal whirled round at a great speed, that I may interest some one in telling all I saw.
The works opposite which I stopped found their motive power in a great wheel just as ours did, but instead of steel being the metal used, the firm worked in what is called Britannia metal, which is an alloy of tin, antimony, zinc, and copper, which being mixed in certain proportions form a metal having the whiteness of tin, but a solidity and firmness given by the three latter metals, that make it very durable, which tin is not.
“Oh, but,” says somebody, “tin is hard enough! Look at the tin saucepans and kettles in every kitchen.”
I beg pardon; those are all made of plates of iron rolled out very thin and then dipped in a bath of tin, to come out white and silvery and clean and ready to keep off rust from attacking the iron. What people call tin plates are reallytinnedplates. Tin itself is a soft metal that melts and runs like lead.
As I looked through into these works, one man was busy with sheets of rolled-out Britannia metal, thrusting them beneath a stamping press, and at every clang with which this came down a piece of metal like a perfectly flat spoon was cut out and fell aside, while at a corresponding press another man was holding a sheet, and as close as possible out of this he was stamping out flat forks, which, like the spoons, were borne to other presses with dies, and as the flat spoon or fork was thrust in it received a tremendous blow, which shaped the bowl and curved the handle, while men at vices and benches finished them off with files.
I had seen all this before, and how out of a flat sheet of metal what seemed like beautiful silver spoons were made; but I had never yet seen a man spin a teapot, so being holiday-time, and having to wait for Uncle Jack, I stood looking on.
I presume that most boys know a lathe when they see it, and how, out of a block of wood, ivory, or metal, a beautifully round handle, chess-man, or even a perfect ball can be turned.
Well, it is just such a lathe as this that the teapot spinner stands before at his work, which is to make a handsome tea or coffee-pot service.
But he uses no sharp tools, and he does not turn his teapot out of a solid block of metal. His tool is a hard piece of wood, something like a child’s hoop-stick, and fixed to the spinning-round part of the lathe, the “chuck,” as a workman would call it, is a solid block of smooth wood shaped like a deep slop-basin.
Up against the bottom of this wooden sugar-basin the workman places a flat round disc or plate of Britannia metal—plate is a good term, for it is about the size or a little larger than an ordinary dinner plate. A part of the lathe is screwed up against this so as to hold the plate flat up against the bottom of the wooden sugar-basin; the lathe is set in motion and the glistening white disc of metal spins round at an inconceivable rate, and becomes nearly invisible.
Then the man begins to press his wooden stick up against the centre of the plate as near as he can go, and gradually draws the wooden tool from the centre towards the edge, pressing it over the wooden block of basin shape.
This he does again and again, and in spite of the metal being cold, the heat of the friction, the speed at which it goes, and the ductility of the metal make it behave as if it were so much clay or putty, and in a very short time the wooden tool has moulded it from a flat disc into a metal bowl which covers the wooden block.
Then the lathe is stopped, the mechanism unscrewed, and the metal bowl taken off the moulding block, which is dispensed with now, for if the spinner were to attempt to contract the edges of his bowl, as a potter does when making a jug, the wooden mould could not be taken out.
So without the wooden block the metal bowl is again fixed in the lathe, sent spinning-round, the stick applied, and in a very short time the bowl, instead of being large-mouthed, is made to contract in a beautiful curve, growing smaller and smaller, till it is about one-third of its original diameter, and the metal has seemed to be plastic, and yielded to the moulding tool till a gracefully formed tall vessel is the result, with quite a narrow mouth where the lid is to be.
Here the spinner’s task is at an end. He has turned a flat plate of metal into a large-bodied narrow-mouthed metal pot as easily as if the hard cold metal had been clay, and all with the lathe and a piece of wood. There are no chips, no scrapings. All the metal is in the pot, and that is now passed on to have four legs soldered on, a hole cut for the spout to be fitted; a handle placed where the handle should be, and finally hinges and a lid and polish to make it perfect and ready for someone’s tray.
I stopped and saw the workman spin a couple of pots, and then thinking I should like to have a try at one of our lathes, I went on past this dam and on to the next, where I meant to have a friendly word with Mrs Gentles if her lord and master were not smoking by the door.
I did not expect to see him after hearing that he was away at work; but as it happened he was there.
For as I reached the path along by the side of the dam I found myself in the midst of a crowd of women and crying children, all in a state of great excitement concerning something in the dam.
I hurried on to see what was the matter, and to my astonishment there was Gentles on the edge of the dam, armed with an ordinary long broom, with which he was trying to hook something out of the water—what, I could not see, for there was nothing visible.
“Farther in—farther in,” a shrill voice cried, making itself heard over the gabble of fifty others. “My Jenny says he went in theer.”
I was still some distance off, but I could see Gentles the unmistakable splash the broom in again, and then over and over again, while women were wringing their hands, and giving bits of advice which seemed to have no effect upon Gentles, who kept splashing away with the broom.
Just then a tall figure in bonnet and shawl came hurrying from the other end of the path, and joined the group about the same time as I did.
There was no mistaking Mrs Gentles without her voice, which she soon made heard.
“Whose bairn is it?” she cried loudly, and throwing off her bonnet and shawl as she spoke.
“Thine—it’s thy little Esau—playing on the edge—got shoved in,” was babbled out by a dozen women; while Gentles did not speak, but went on pushing in the broom, giving it a mow round like a scythe, and pulling it out.
“Wheer? Oh, my gracious!” panted Mrs Gentles, “wheer did he go in?”
Poor woman! A dozen hands pointed to different parts of the bank many yards apart, and I saw her turn quite white as she rushed at her husband and tore the broom from his hands.
“What’s the good o’ that, thou Maulkin,” (scarecrow) she cried, giving him a push that sent him staggering away; and without a moment’s hesitation she stooped, tightened her garments round her, and jumped right into the dam, which was deeper than she thought, for she went under in the great splash she made, losing her footing, and a dread fell upon all till they saw the great stalwart woman rise and shake the water from her face, and stand chest deep, and then shoulder deep, as, sobbing hysterically, she reached out in all directions with the broom, trying to find the child.
“Was it anywheers about here—anywheers about here?” she cried, as she waded to and fro in a state of frantic excitement, and a storm of affirmations responded, while her husband, who seemed quite out of place among so many women, stood rubbing his head in a stolid way.
“Quiet, bairns!” shrieked one of the women, stamping her foot fiercely at the group of children who had been playing about after childhood’s fashion in the most dangerous place they could find.
Her voice was magical, for it quelled a perfect babel of sobs and cries. And all the while poor Mrs Gentles was reaching out, so reckless of herself that she was where the water reached her chin, and could hardly keep her footing.
“Call thysen a man!” shouted the woman who had silenced the children. “Go in or thou’llt lose thy wife and bairn too.”
But Gentles paid no heed to the admonition. He stood rubbing his ear softly, though he gave a satisfied grunt as he saw the fierce virago of a woman who had spoken, leap in after Mrs Gentles, and wade out so as to hold her left hand.
Where had the child tumbled in? No one knew, for the frightened little ones who had spread the news, running away home as soon as their playmate had toppled in with a splash, were too scared to remember the exact spot.
I had not been idle all this time, but as the above scene was in progress I had taken off jacket, vest, and cap, handing them to a woman to hold, and had just finished kicking off my boots and socks, carefully watching the surface of the water the while, under the impression that the poor child would rise to the surface.
All at once I caught sight of something far to the right of us, and evidently being taken by the current towards the sluice where the big wheel was in motion.
It might be the child, or it might only be a piece of paper floating there, but I had no time to investigate that, and, running along the path till I was opposite the place, I plunged head-first in, rose, shook the water from my eyes, and swam as rapidly as my clothes would allow towards the spot.
The women set up a cry and the children shrieked, and as I swam steadily on I could hear away to my left the two women come splashing and wading through the water till they were opposite to where I was swimming.
“Oh, quick! Quick, my lad!” cried Mrs Gentles; and her agonised voice sent a thrill through me far more than did the shrieking chorus of the women as they shouted words of encouragement to me to proceed.
I did not need the encouragement, for I was swimming my best, not making rapid strokes, but, as Uncle Jack had often shown me in river and sea, taking a long, slow, vigorous stroke, well to the end, one that is more effective, and which can be long sustained.
But though I tried my best, I was still some feet from the spot where I had seen the floating object, when it seemed to fade away, and there was nothing visible when I reached the place.
“There! There!” shrieked Mrs Gentles; “can’t you see him—there?”
She could not see any more than I could, as I raised myself as high as possible, treading water, and then paddling round like a dog in search of something thrown in which has sunk.
The little fellow had gone, and there was nothing for it but to dive, and as I had often done before, I turned over and went down into the black water to try and find the drowning child.
I stayed down as long as I could, came up, and looked round amidst a tremendous chorus of cries, and then dived again like a duck.
Pray, don’t think I was doing anything brave or heroic, for it seemed to me nothing of the kind. I had been so drilled by my uncles in leaping off banks, and out of a boat, and in diving after eggs thrown down in the clear water, that, save the being dressed, it was a very ordinary task to me; in fact, I believe I could have swum steadily on for an hour if there had been any need, and gone on diving as often as I liked.
So I went under again and again, with the current always taking me on toward the sluice, and giving way to it; for, of course, the child would, I felt, be carried that way too.
Every time I rose there was the shrieking and crying of the women and the prayerful words of the mother bidding me try; and had not her woman friend clung to her arm, I believe she would have struggled into deep water and been drowned.
I caught glimpses of her, and of Gentles standing on the bank rubbing his ear as I dived down again in quite a hopeless way now, and, stopping down a much shorter time, I had given a kick or two, and was rising, when my hands touched something which glided away.
This encouraged me, and I just took my breath above water, heard the cries, and dived again, to have the water thundering in my ears.
For a few moments I could feel nothing; then my left hand touched a bundle of clothes, and in another moment I was at the surface with the child’s head above water, and swimming with all my might for the side.
There was a wild shriek of excitement to greet me, and then there was very nearly a terrible catastrophe for finale to the scene, for, as soon as she saw that I had hold of her child, the frantic mother shook off her companion, and with a mingling of the tragic and ludicrous reached out with the broom to drag us both in.
Her excitement was too much for her; she took a step forward to reach us, slipped into deep water, went under, and the next minute she had risen, snatched at me, and we were struggling together.
I was quite paralysed, while the poor woman had lost her head completely, and was blind by trying to save herself—holding on to me with all her might.
Under the circumstances it is no wonder that I became helpless and confused, and that we sank together in the deep water close now to the dam head, and then all was black confusion, for my sensations were very different to what they were when I made my voluntary dives.
It was matter of moments, though, and then a strong hand gripped me by the arm, we were dragged to the side, and a dozen hands were ready to help us out on to the bank.
“Give me the child,” said a strange voice. “Which is the house? Here—the mother and one woman, come. Keep the crowd away.”
In a confused way I saw a tall man in black take the child in his arms, and I thought how wet he would make himself; while Mrs Gentles, panting and gasping for breath, seized me by the hand; and then they passed on in the middle of the crowd, augmented by a number of workmen, and disappeared into the cottage I knew so well.
“What! Was it you, Uncle Jack?” I said, looking up in his grave big eyes.
“Yes, my boy; and I only just came in time. How are you?”
“Horribly wet,” I said grimly and with a shiver. Then forcing a laugh as he held my hands tightly in his. “Why, you’re just as bad.”
“Yes, but you—are you all right?”
“Oh, yes, uncle! There’s nothing the matter with me.”
“Then come along and let’s run home. Never mind appearances; let’s get into some dry clothes. But I should like to hear about the child.”
It was an easy thing to say, but not to do. We wanted to go to Gentles’ house, but we were surrounded by a dense crowd; and the next minute a lot of rough men were shaking both Uncle Jack’s hands and fighting one with the other to get hold of them, while I—
Just fancy being in the middle of a crowd of women, and all of them wanting to throw their arms round me and kiss me at once.
That was my fate then; and regardless of my resistance one motherly body after another seized me, kissing my cheeks roundly, straining me to her bosom, and calling me her “brave lad!” or her “bonny bairn!” or “my mahn!”
I had to be kissed and hand-shaken till I would gladly have escaped for very shame; and at last Uncle Jack rescued me, coming to my side smiling and looking round.
“If he’s thy bairn, mester,” cried the virago-like woman who had helped Mrs Gentles, “thou ought to be proud of him.”
“And so I am,” cried Uncle Jack, laying his hand upon my shoulder.
Here there was a loud “hurrah!” set up by the men, and the women joined in shrilly, while a couple of men with big mugs elbowed their way towards us.
“Here, lay holt, mester,” said one to Uncle Jack; “drink that—it’ll keep out the cold.”
At the same moment a mug was forced into my hand, and in response to a nod from Uncle Jack I took a hearty draught of some strong mixture which I believe was gin and beer.
“How is the child?” said Uncle Jack.
“Doctor says he can’t tell yet, but hopes he’ll pull bairn through.”
“Now, my lads,” said Uncle Jack, “you don’t want us to catch cold?”
“No.—Hurray!”
“Nor you neither, my good women?”
“Nay, God bless thee, no!” was chorused.
“Then good-bye! And if one of you will run down to our place and tell us how the little child is by and by, I’ll be glad.”
“Nay, thou’llt shake han’s wi’ me first,” said the big virago-like woman, whose drenched clothes clung to her from top to toe.
“That I will,” cried Uncle Jack, suiting the action to the word by holding out his; but to his surprise the woman laid her hands upon his shoulders, the tears streaming down her cheeks, and kissed him in simple north-country fashion.
“God bless thee, my mahn!” she said with a sob. “Thou may’st be a Lunnoner, but thou’rt a true un, and thou’st saved to-day as good a wife and mother as ever stepped.”
Here there was another tremendous cheer; and to avoid fresh demonstrations I snatched my clothes from the woman who held them, and we hurried off to get back to Mrs Stephenson’s as quickly and quietly as we could.
Quickly! Quietly! We were mad to expect it; for we had to go home in the midst of a rapidly-increasing crowd, who kept up volley after volley of cheers, and pressed to our sides to shake hands.
That latter display of friendliness we escaped during the finish of our journey; for in spite of all Uncle Jack could do to prevent it, big as he was, they hoisted him on the shoulders of a couple of great furnacemen, a couple more carrying me, and so we were taken home.
I never felt so much ashamed in my life, but there was nothing for it but to be patient; and, like most of such scenes, it came to an end by our reaching Mrs Stephenson’s and nearly frightening her to death.
“Bless my heart!” she cried, “I thought there’d been some accident, and you was both brought home half-killed. Just hark at ’em! The street’s full, and the carts can hardly get by.”
And so it was; for whenever, as I towelled myself into a glow, I peeped round the blind, there was the great crowd shouting and hurrahing with all their might.
For the greater part they were workmen and boys, all in their shirt-sleeves and without caps; but there was a large sprinkling of big motherly women there; and the more I looked the more abashed I felt, for first one and then another seemed to be telling the story to a listening knot, as I could see by the motion of her hands imitating swimming.
Two hours after we were cheered by the news that my efforts had not been in vain, for after a long fight the doctor had brought the child to; and that night, when we thought all the fuss was over, there came six great booms from a big drum, and a powerful brass band struck up, “See, the Conquering Hero comes!” Then the mob that had gathered cheered and shouted till we went to the window and thanked them; and then they cheered again, growing quite mad with excitement as a big strapping woman, in a black silk bonnet and a scarlet shawl, came up to the door and was admitted and brought into the parlour.
I was horrified, for it was big Mrs Gentles, and I had a dread of another scene.
I need not have been alarmed, for there was a sweet natural quietness in the woman that surprised us all, as she said with the tears running down her cheeks:
“I’m only a poor common sort of woman, gentlemen, but I think a deal o’ my bairns, and I’ve come to say I’ll never forget a prayer for the bonny boy who saved my little laddie, nor for the true brave gentleman who saved me to keep them still.”
Uncle Jack shook hands with her, insisting upon her having a glass of wine, but she would not sit down, and after she had drunk her wine she turned to me.
I put out my hand, but she threw her arms round my neck, kissed me quickly on each cheek, and ran sobbing out of the room, and nearly oversetting Mr Tomplin, who was coming up.
“Hallo, my hero!” he cried, shaking hands with me.
“Please, please don’t, Mr Tomplin,” I cried. “I feel as if I’d never do such a thing again as long as I live.”
“Don’t say that, my boy,” he cried. “Say it if you like, though. You don’t mean it. I say, though, you folks have done it now.”
We had done more than we thought, for the next morning when we walked down to the office and Uncle Jack was saying that we must not be done out of our holiday, who should be waiting at the gate but Gentles.
“Ugh!” said Uncle Jack; “there’s that scoundrel. I hate that man. I wish it had been someone else’s child you had saved, Cob. Well, my man,” he cried roughly, “what is it?”
Gentles had taken off his cap, a piece of politeness very rare among his set, and he looked down on the ground for a minute or two, and then ended a painful silence by saying:
“I’ve been a reg’lar bad un to you and yours, mester; but it was the traäde as made me do it.”
“Well, that’s all over now, Gentles, and you’ve come to apologise?”
“Yes, mester, that’s it. I’m down sorry, I am, and if you’ll tek me on again I’ll sarve you like a man—ay, and I’ll feight for thee like a man agen the traäde.”
“Are you out of work?”
“Nay, mester, I can always get plenty if I like to wuck.”
“Do you mean what you say, Gentles?”
“Why, mester, wouldn’t I hev been going to club to-day for money to bury a bairn and best wife a man ivver hed if it hadn’t been for you two. Mester, I’d do owt for you now.”
“I believe you, Gentles,” said Uncle Jack in his firm way. “Go back to your stone.”
Gentles smiled all over his face, and ran in before us whistling loudly with his fingers, and the men all turned out and cheered us over and over again, looking as delighted as so many boys.
“Mr Tomplin’s right,” said Uncle Dick; “we’ve done it at last.”
“No, not yet,” said Uncle Jack; “we’ve won the men to our side and all who know us will take our part, but there is that ugly demon to exorcise yet that they call the traäde.”
That night I was going back alone when my heart gave a sort of leap, for just before me, and apparently waylaying me, were two of the boys who had been foremost in hunting me that day. My temper rose and my cheeks flushed; but they had come upon no inimical errand, for they both laughed in a tone that bespoke them the sons of Gentles, and the bigger one spoke in a bashful sort of way.
“Moother said we was to come and ax your pardon, mester. It were on’y meant for a game, and she leathered us both for it.”
“And will you hev this?” said the other, holding out something in a piece of brown-paper.
“I sha’n’t take any more notice of it,” I said quietly; “but I don’t want any present.”
“There, moother said he’d be over proud to tak it,” said the younger lad resentfully to his brother.
“No, I am not too proud,” I said; “give it to me. What is it?”
“Best knife they maks at our wucks,” said the boy eagerly. “It’s rare stoof. I say, we’re going to learn to swim like thou.”
They both nodded and went away, leaving me thinking that I was after this to be friends with the Arrowfield boys as well as the men.
They need not have put it in the newspaper, but there it was, a long account headed “Gallant rescue by a boy.” It was dressed up in a way that made my cheeks tingle, and a few days later the tears came into my eyes as I read a letter from my mother telling me she had read in the newspaper what I had done, and—
There, I will not set that down. It was what my mother said, and every British boy knows what his mother would say of an accident like that.
It was wonderful how the works progressed after this, and how differently the men met us. It was not only our own, but the men at all the works about us. Instead of a scowl or a stare there was a nod, and a gruff “good morning.” In fact, we seemed to have lived down the prejudice against the “chaps fro’ Lunnon, and their contrapshions;” but my uncles knew only too well that they had not mastered the invisible enemy called the trade.