CHAPTER XXV
A LETTER FROM JOSEPH YARROW, SENIOR, TO HIS SON JOSEPH YARROW, JUNIOR
Dear Joe--Yours of the 10th received and contents noted. You ask me totell you in writing what happened when, like a fool, I allowed myselfto be caught and imprisoned by the other fools at Deep Moat Grange, atthat time the property of the late Mr. H. Stennis.
Nothing can be more generally useless than the practice of going backon old transactions, the gain of which has long gone to your banker, orthe loss been written off. But as, on this occasion, you represent tome that a few notanda from me might aid your book to sell, I complywith your desire. Your proposition, kindly but speculative, that Ishould receive ten per cent. (10%) of the proceeds, is one to which Icannot accede. The venture is your own, and though I reply as afather, I desire to rest absolutely disinterested in the business. Ihave made my success in life, such as it is, by never touching anythingof a doubtful or gambling nature. And I am creditably informed thepublication of books of thrilling adventure such as you proposeundoubtedly falls under the latter category.
But the facts, nevertheless, are at your service. All that I ask ofyou is that you should allow them to remain facts. I once lifted apage of your MS., which had been blown from your desk, and I grieve tosay that it contained such twaddle about love, together with otherintangible and inappreciable articles, that I came very near todischarging you on the spot. But I remembered the solid qualities andaptitudes you had shown (I give you so much credit, but I trust you donot strike me for a rise on the strength of it) on the occasion of mylate disappearance.
Well, on Monday, the sixth of December, at 8.59 I received a letterbearing the Edinburgh postmark, stating that a certain Mr. StephenCairney, who has owed me over three hundred pounds for a number ofyears (L329, to be exact) would be selling a large parcel of cattle atLongtown Tryst. The writer of the note was Mr. H. Stennis, of DeepMoat Grange, and he informed me that he had successfully adopted asimilar course at Falkirk some years ago. He had been able to give hislawyer due notice, and had "riested" the money in the hands of theauctioneer.
Now there is no reason why Hobby Stennis should go out of his way toput money into my pocket. On the contrary! If it had been the otherway about I should have seen him farther first before I meddled.Still, the sum was a considerable one, and Mr. Dealer Stephen Cairneycertainly a slippery customer, whom I might never be able to makeanything off of again. It was just possible that old Hobby, asspiteful an old ruffian as lived, whether as poor weaver or as GoldenFarmer, had his knife into Cairney for some old quarrel which mostlikely Cairney had himself forgotten.
At any rate, there was nothing against my riding to Longtown to see.Nothing against my trying, at least, to come by my own. Still it waswith an angry and unsettled mind, but a firm determination not to becheated if I could help it, that I rode off to Longtown on Dapple, thegood and trusty mare I had bought as a bargain from the heirs andassigns of Mr. Henry Foster, sometime deceased.
My wife was most difficult as to my riding alone, but if a man is totake account of the whim-whams of his women-folk, he will have time forlittle else. So I gave Joseph and Kingsman sufficient directions andelaborate instructions to pass them over till my return, and so parted.
There is nothing to note on the journey to Longtown. I fell intoconverse with several farmers and made arrangements with one to takehis young pigs at valuation--which I judged a good affair to me, hisvaluator being largely indebted to me in the line of bone manures andfeeding stuffs.
But beyond that nothing, and even that affair was quite in the courseof business, though it has not yet matured.
For, perhaps owing to the unsettled state of the country, the pigs havebeen anxious-minded and run to legs, utterly refusing to put on flesh,which, as I understand it, is the first duty of pig. I came somewhereacross a book by Thomas Carlyle in which he stated this somewhatstrongly. I was much struck by the strength and precision of theargumentation, and wished that at all times he had thought fit to writewith similar clearness. There is no doubt that the man had theability. I have read worse newspaper articles.
I found my man without great difficulty, and duly "riested" or arrestedthe moneys due to me, in the hands of Mr. Lightbody the auctioneer,taking the said Mr. Lightbody's cheque on a Thorsby bank--both as moreportable, and also to give that sound and well-considered man time tosettle with the buyers of the Cairney cattle--lots A, B, and C, onwhich I had first charge.
Now, I am not a man ever to halt at markets, or to drink in publicplaces--more, that is, than to clinch a bargain, as an honest manought, neither with stinting nor with offensive liberality. I evenmade it up with Cairney, though at first, of course, he was neither tohold nor to bind. He threatened to bring me up "before the fifteen"for damage to his credit. But I pointed out that nothing hurts a man'scredit so much as the habit of not paying his debts. Whereupon hecalmed a little, and said he, "I'll wager that it was old Hobby who putyou on to this!" To which, naturally, I made no reply, letting himthink just what he would.
At three o'clock I had Dapple saddled. For it being the winter season,I judged that late enough to be travelling over so wild a country. Buthaving done harm to no one, and carrying no sums of money, I saw noreason for fear.
At the half-way little hedge inn, for once in my life I lighted downand called for a bowl of soup, but could only get coffee, and thatwithout milk--which proves the improvidence of these people. For CreweMoss would easily have pastured a hundred cows, though it would mostlikely happen that an odd one might get laired in the soft places nowand then. But not to have so much as a drop of milk and on Crewe Moss!Lamentable! So I told the people what I thought of them, mountedDapple, and came my ways.
I had gone, perhaps, three miles, and was skirting the woods adjoiningthe property of Mr. Stennis, when, as I passed under some high trees anoose dropped about my neck. The mare passed on, and I was leftdangling as neatly as if the hangman had done it. Happily for me thecord had descended lower than my neck on one side, and I was caughtunder the left armpit. But there I swung and turned all the same,shouting manfully for help. I could observe as I wheeled about, forall the world like a scarecrow in a bean field, some one in the act ofcatching Dapple and tying her to a tree.
Then the man--a long-limbed, ugly-mugged fellow, with corkscrew curlsexactly like the old maids when I was young--came back, and, letting medown, wrapped me carefully in a coil of rope till I could move neitherhand nor foot. I know him now to be Mad Jeremy, for long chief agentin the doubtful affairs of Mr. Hobby Stennis.
Now I am a fair weight, for my inches, though not to call a heavy man.But this gipsy-looking fellow took me on his back as easily as if I hadbeen a bag of shavings for kindling. If he had taken to honestcourses, that same Jeremy Orrin--for so I am informed he is called--Iwould gladly have given him a thirty-shilling-a-week job in thewarehouse. Nothing would have come unhandily to him.
Well, he carried me by various passages, the rough stone and lime ofwhich scratched my face, knees, and knocking elbows, to a commodiousrounded chamber. It was floored, walled, and roofed with wood. But Icould make out, by sounding, the stone arching, and behind that againthe solid earth. It was, as I now know, the cellar or ice house of themonks which they had built for themselves on the verge of the Moat tocool their wine in torrid summers.
Hither the woman, Aphra Orrin, accompanied her brother, my captor.They searched me thoroughly, as though I were a postman with registeredletters and other valuables, but, as was my habit, they found upon myperson no store of valuables--fairs and trysts being no fit places tomake parade of one's gear.
Among some almanacs, jottings of bargains, and other things, these twocame on the cheque for three hundred pounds on the bank of Thorsby, atwhich Mr. Lightbody, the auctioneer, did his business--as they said,for the purpose of giving him a day extra--which, indeed, an honest manmight very well do, paying out on many occasions before he had receivedthe price from the buyer.
But to this I would not agree. I regarded the position all round, andsaw clearly that as soon as I had signed, it would be as good assigning my death warrant. So I judged it best to put them off withhalf promises, and partial encouragements. As, "that I could not bringmyself to rob my family of so great a sum," or "that the bank wouldexpect me to present the cheque in person." Both of which were merevanities--for, of course, the cheque was made out to me personally andwould be paid over my signature, which was as well known to thecashiers of the Thorsby bank as that of the manager himself.
So, being countered in this, the man with the curls was for putting hisknife into me instanter, but the tall woman took him apart, and I couldhear her pounding the table with her fist, persuading him. With threehundred pounds, so she argued, they could all get out of the country,supposing that Mr. Stennis's money was not available. I was, I learnedfrom her words, their anchor to windward. They had expected I shouldbring back the money in gold or notes. Therefore, as I had not doneso, I should be kept in the ice house and coaxed till I signed thecheque. Then they could close all the doors--no need of strongermeasures--and leave me tied on the floor of the ice house. Who, atleast for long, would be any the wiser?
I had time for many things, there, in that chilly abode. They chainedmy ankles to rings let into the wall, the bolts of which appearedthrough the lining of planks. I was given a mattress to lie upon, andoccasionally Mad Jeremy threw me a loaf of bread, as one does to a dog.
Most of all, I was afraid that my faculties should rust, or even that Ishould go mad, so by steady application I learned the multiplicationtable up to twenty-four-times, making each as familiar to me as tentimes ten. This would prove of great use to me afterwards in mybusiness, and those who do have transactions with me wonder at myquickness while I laugh at their simplicity.
Then I took up one by one all the concerns of every man I knew, and setmyself problems as against myself. As thus: Yarrow, of Breckonside,will be coming to me shortly for two hundred loads of fodder for thecompany's horses. He has the contract down at Clifton--the tramwaycompany--and get the fodder he must. And how shall I mix the stuff sothat it will be passed when it comes to be taken off his hands?
I thought all this out, putting myself in the other's place, and no onecan imagine--who has not tried it--how excellent a lesson in affairs itproved. After that drill in the old ice house, where at times I waswell-nigh frozen, I seemed to see inside every man's skull with whom Iwas making a bargain. It was not only a great advantage, but in a sortof way it was poetry also. I don't expect Joseph to understand thisany more than I understand his maunderings about love and girls. Notbut what I am fond of my wife. She brought me a good round sum, asevery woman ought, which I have used with care and caused to breedhandsomely. But if I were to tell Mary that I loved her, I think shewould go at once and order my tombstone. At least, she would call in adoctor!
Still, with all my invention, the time hung heavy. Each day the Orrinwoman came bringing Lightbody's cheque, with new arguments why I shouldsign it. I put her off, though sometimes not without difficulty. Ithink she must have been partly cracked, in spite of her apparentlybusiness-like habits, for it puzzled me how they would have got themoney, even over my signature, taking into consideration my suddendisappearance and the to-do there would be about it. But I took careto say nothing about that. Mr. Lightbody's cheque and the hope thatthey had of my signing it, and so enabling them to get the money, wasmy best safeguard.
But one day Miss Orrin, apparently after long cogitation, made anotherproposal. If I would write to my bankers telling them that I had goneabroad on an affair of great moment, and asking them to pay to thebearer a thousand pounds on my behalf, Miss Orrin would pledge her wordto leave me with ten days' provisions in the vault, and at the end ofthat time to send to the authorities a message stating where I was tobe found.
This, she said, was their ultimatum. The alternative unexpressed, butevident, was Master Jeremy's knife. However, I did not agree. Thebusiness had too speculative an air, and there was a decided lack ofguarantee. For there was nothing to prevent those kind friends fromcutting my throat after they had pocketed the cash, supposing that mybanker was fool enough to pay it without going to the police. Isuppose, however, that Jeremy would have stayed here by me, and if thepolice had been called in, or his sister had not returned, there wouldhave been no more of me.
I told them plainly, and as a business man, that they would only berunning their heads into a trap if I wrote any such order, but that thecheque was negotiable anywhere. It could pass through any number ofhands even from the Continent. This little bit of information, Ibelieve, preserved my life. For the very next day I caught one of thejackdaws that came to seek shelter about my dungeon, entering through acrack high in the arched roof. I wrote the message--alreadyreproduced--on paper stuffed in a rook's quill which I picked up offthe floor, and fastening the long feather to the jackdaw's tail withwhitey-brown thread unwound from a button, I let the bird flutter away.
Now I come to a circumstance that I have something of delicacy about.Bairns' plays are not suitable for men of ripe years, you say. Iagree, but when sometimes one has children, and especially an only sonupon whom the care and guidance of a large business will some daydevolve, there are certain kinds of plays that cannot be hastilycondemned even by the wisest.
It was the year when the fever, now called typhoid, but then simply the"Fivvor," made ravages in Breckonside. No one knew what brought it,and none knew why it went away. But during its stay, both myself andmy son Joseph were attacked by it among the first. My wife, Mrs.Yarrow, had her hands full with the two of us. Neither was very ill,but the time of convalescence was long; and had it been any otherdoctor than Dr. Hector who attended me, I would have been out a dozentimes a day.
But--and I like him for it, for I have the faculty myself--Dr. Hectorhas a way with him that makes people think twice before disobeying him.Joe was in his room, I in mine, and there was between us a thickpartition, such as are to be found in old houses, of double oak, withan air space between.
Now my brain being by nature busy, and to amuse the boy most of all, Iconcocted a simple code of sound signals which Joe and I called our"Morse." We would often amuse ourselves the day by the length, byrapping our messages the one to the other. It went like this. I madea little tablet for Joe, and kept one by me till we had both learnedthe inscription by ear, as it were.
+-----------------------+ | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | +-------|---|---|---|---+ | 1 | A | B | C | D | E | +---|---|---|---|---|---+ | 2 | F | G | H | I | K | +---|---|---|---|---|---+ | 3 | L | M | N | O | P | +---|---|---|---|---|---+ | 4 | Q | R | S | T | U | +---|---|---|---|---|---+ | 5 | V | W | X | Y | Z | +-----------------------+
It consisted of the alphabet arranged in five lines, and numberedabove, and at the side. Then the intersection of the number of knocks,two series with a pause between, beginning with the horizontal topfigures gave the letter. It was simplicity itself when once learned.
Joe picked it up quickly, and we rapped out messages to each other assoon as we were awake. For instance, three knocks, then after a pausetwo more, gave the letter H.
This was the first of our morning's greetings, "Heeps better." Joe didnot spell well at that time, but for the correction of his orthographyit needed the schoolmaster's cane, and not a newly invented Morse soundcode. So I let him spell as he liked. It lightened our days verymuch. And I will admit, ever after that, Joseph and I understood eachother better.
Now it will hardly be believed, but I am willing to let my commercialhonour stand for the truth of what I am about to say, which with thosewho ha
ve done business with me will be sufficient. One morning I awokeearly, before the slate-blue crack, with a star wandering across it,which was the jackdaw's front door, had changed to the grey of awinter's morning. I lay on my comfortless straw couch, wondering whyit was that my prison was not colder. It could not be that it was sofar underground as to be warm like the bottom of a mine, by its owndistance from the earth's surface. There were the exits and theentrances of the jackdaws to witness against that.
Still, though cold enough at times, the fact remained that thetemperature of my prison never descended to the freezing point.Indeed, it had probably been chosen as a winter home by the birds onthat account. Once or twice I had seen a flake of snow flutteringdown, but these melted before they could be discerned on the oakenfloor of the curious circular cellar in which I lay.
I was, as I say, pondering over these things, about home, too, and whatJoseph would be doing. I almost blush to write, but I beganautomatically knocking out a sentence in our old "Morse" code which hadamused us during the fever year.
"Is any one there?" I spelled the words out.
And I actually sat upright with wonder when I heard come through thethick oak of the partition, first five distinct knocks, then, after apause, one.
"I heard first five distinct knocks then after apause--one."]
It was the letter E! But, then, only Joe and I knew of it! My heartsank. I thought in swift, lightning flashes. Had my son been capturedalso? But the person at the other side of the wall went on spelling,one knock, pause, three knocks.
It was the letter L!
And so with the quiet regularity of an expert, the sentence came backto me.
"Elsie here--Who are you?"
I felt much inclined, of course, to ask who Elsie might be, but I mademy answer--fearing a trap--by the mere spelling out of my name andaddress, "Joseph Yarrow, Breckonside."
Then there was tapped out hurried, imperfectly, in a manner denotingundue and even foolish emotion--"Dearest Joe. I thank you for tryingto help me. Your Elsie."
There was evidently some mistake. No one had a right to answer methus--least of all an Elsie--my wife's name being Mary, and she aslittle likely to address me as "Dearest Joe," as to call me the GrandMogul! In fact, it was nothing less than a prodigious liberty--whoeverElsie might be.
But a thought flashed across my mind. The young dog! At it already!If I had my hand on his collar, I would teach him to be anybody's"Dearest Joe!" "Dearest Joe" indeed! I would "Dearest Joe" him!
But after all the situation had made me smile, and I knew that therewas but one Elsie in Breckonside--Elsie Stennis--and as good a girl asever stepped! Too good for Joe, if only she had her rights--what withthe old rascal's property, not that I minded much about that--and atemper which would make Master Joe toe the line. He had need ofthat--I never!
Now I do not say that I thought all that then. I desire to be exact inthe smallest details. I merely smiled, perhaps a little grimly, andrapped out the correction--"Joseph Yarrow, Senior."
I knew that would surprise her. For I must have had the reputation ofbeing in my grave for many days before the wretched crew at Deep MoatGrange got hold of her.
Then very falteringly was rapped out the further question: "Are youreally Joe's father?"
I replied that I had been given to believe so, but that Joe's apparentconduct might well give rise to doubts.
The answer came back at once:
"You don't mean that, Mr. Yarrow!"
Which, I will own, fairly conquered me--almost made me laugh, andthough an old man, I felt quite warm about the heart. Now, when I cameto think of it, I had always liked to see Elsie Stennis tripping aboutthe village streets. One picture I was foolish enough to remember--adingy November day after it had been raining, and Elsie going to schoolto her teaching. She was crossing the little dirty place in front ofEbie McClintock's forge, and she stooped to pick up her skirts, givingthem a little shake, and then hopped across with her nose in theair--pert and pretty as a robin redbreast.
No fool like an old fool. I am speaking to you--Mr. Joseph Yarrow,Senior.
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