CHAPTER XXX.
OLD WAYS AND NEW WAYS.
[Illustration (untitled)]
Mr. Preston was now installed in his new house at Hollingford; Mr.Sheepshanks having entered into dignified idleness at the house ofhis married daughter, who lived in the county town. His successorhad plunged with energy into all manner of improvements; andamong others, he fell to draining a piece of outlying waste andunreclaimed land of Lord Cumnor's, which was close to Squire Hamley'sproperty--that very piece for which he had had the Government grant,but which now lay neglected, and only half drained, with stacks ofmossy tiles, and lines of upturned furrows telling of abortive plans.It was not often that the Squire rode in this direction now-a-days;but the cottage of a man who had been the squire's gamekeeperin those more prosperous days when the Hamleys could afford to"preserve," was close to the rush-grown ground. This old servant andtenant was ill, and had sent a message up to the Hall, asking to seethe Squire: not to reveal any secret, or to say anything particular,but only from the feudal loyalty, which made it seem to the dying manas if it would be a comfort to shake the hand, and look once moreinto the eyes of the lord and master whom he had served, and whoseancestors his own forbears had served for so many generations. Andthe Squire was as fully alive as old Silas to the claims of the tiethat existed between them. Though he hated the thought, and stillmore, should hate the sight of the piece of land, on the side ofwhich Silas's cottage stood, the Squire ordered his horse, and rodeoff within half-an-hour of receiving the message. As he drew nearthe spot he thought he heard the sound of tools, and the hum ofmany voices, just as he used to hear them a year or two before. Helistened with surprise. Yes! Instead of the still solitude he hadexpected, there was the clink of iron, the heavy gradual thud of thefall of barrows-ful of soil--the cry and shout of labourers. But noton his land--better worth expense and trouble by far than the reedyclay common on which the men were, in fact, employed. He knew it wasLord Cumnor's property; and he knew Lord Cumnor and his family hadgone up in the world ("the Whig rascals!"), both in wealth and instation, as the Hamleys had gone down. But all the same--in spiteof long known facts, and in spite of reason--the Squire's readyanger rose high at the sight of his neighbour doing what he had beenunable to do, and he a Whig, and his family only in the county sinceQueen Anne's time. He went so far as to wonder whether they mightnot--the labourers he meant--avail themselves of his tiles, lying soconveniently close to hand. All these thoughts, regrets, and wonderswere in his mind as he rode up to the cottage he was bound to, andgave his horse in charge to a little lad, who had hitherto found hismorning's business and amusement in playing at "houses" with a stillyounger sister, with some of the Squire's neglected tiles. But hewas old Silas's grandson, and he might have battered the rude redearthenware to pieces--a whole stack--one by one, and the Squirewould have said little or nothing. It was only that he would notspare one to a labourer of Lord Cumnor's. No! not one.
Old Silas lay in a sort of closet, opening out of the familyliving-room. The small window that gave it light looked right on tothe "moor," as it was called; and by day the check curtain was drawnaside so that he might watch the progress of the labour. Everythingabout the old man was clean, if coarse; and, with Death, theleveller, so close at hand, it was the labourer who made the firstadvances, and put out his horny hand to the Squire.
"I thought you'd come, Squire. Your father came for to see my fatheras he lay a-dying."
"Come, come, my man!" said the Squire, easily affected, as he alwayswas. "Don't talk of dying, we shall soon have you out, never fear.They've sent you up some soup from the Hall, as I bade 'em, haven'tthey?"
"Ay, ay, I've had all as I could want for to eat and to drink. Theyoung squire and Master Roger was here yesterday."
"Yes, I know."
"But I'm a deal nearer Heaven to-day, I am. I should like you to lookafter th' covers in th' West Spinney, Squire; them gorse, you know,where th' old fox had her hole--her as give 'em so many a run. You'llmind it, Squire, though you was but a lad. I could laugh to think onher tricks yet." And, with a weak attempt at a laugh, he got himselfinto a violent fit of coughing, which alarmed the squire, who thoughthe would never get his breath again. His daughter-in-law came inat the sound, and told the Squire that he had these coughing-boutsvery frequently, and that she thought he would go off in one of thembefore long. This opinion of hers was spoken simply out before theold man, who now lay gasping and exhausted upon his pillow. Poorpeople acknowledge the inevitableness and the approach of death ina much more straightforward manner than is customary among moreeducated folk. The Squire was shocked at her hard-heartedness, ashe considered it; but the old man himself had received much tenderkindness from his daughter-in-law; and what she had just said was nomore news to him than the fact that the sun would rise to-morrow. Hewas more anxious to go on with his story.
"Them navvies--I call 'em navvies because some on 'em is strangers,though some on 'em is th' men as was turned off your own works,squire, when there came orders to stop 'em last fall--they'rea-pulling up gorse and brush to light their fire for warming up theirmesses. It's a long way off to their homes, and they mostly dinehere; and there'll be nothing of a cover left, if you don't see after'em. I thought I should like to tell ye afore I died. Parson's beenhere; but I did na tell him. He's all for the earl's folk, and he'dnot ha' heeded. It's the earl as put him into his church, I reckon,for he said what a fine thing it were for to see so much employmenta-given to the poor, and he never said nought o' th' sort when yourworks were agait, Squire."
This long speech had been interrupted by many a cough and gasp forbreath; and having delivered himself of what was on his mind, heturned his face to the wall, and appeared to be going to sleep.Presently he roused himself with a start:--
"I know I flogged him well, I did. But he were after pheasants' eggs,and I didn't know he were an orphan. Lord, forgive me!"
"He's thinking on David Morton, the cripple, as used to go abouttrapping vermin," whispered the woman.
"Why, he died long ago--twenty year, I should think," replied theSquire.
"Ay, but when grandfather goes off i' this way to sleep after a boutof talking he seems to be dreaming on old times. He'll not waken upyet, sir; you'd best sit down if you'd like to stay," she continued,as she went into the house-place and dusted a chair with her apron."He was very particular in bidding me wake him if he were asleep, andyou or Mr. Roger was to call. Mr. Roger said he'd be coming againthis morning--but he'll likely sleep an hour or more, if he's letalone."
"I wish I'd said good-by, I should like to have done that."
"He drops off so sudden," said the woman. "But if you'd be betterpleased to have said it, Squire, I'll waken him up a bit."
"No, no!" the Squire called out as the woman was going to be as goodas her word. "I'll come again, perhaps to-morrow. And tell him I wassorry; for I am indeed. And be sure and send to the Hall for anythingyou want! Mr. Roger is coming, is he? He'll bring me word how he is,later on. I should like to have bidden him good-by."
So, giving sixpence to the child who had held his horse, the Squiremounted. He sate still a moment, looking at the busy work going onbefore him, and then at his own half-completed drainage. It was abitter pill. He had objected to borrowing from Government, in thefirst instance; and then his wife had persuaded him to the step; andafter it was once taken, he was as proud as could be of the onlyconcession to the spirit of progress he ever made in his life. He hadread and studied the subject pretty thoroughly, if also very slowly,during the time his wife had been influencing him. He was tolerablywell up in agriculture, if in nothing else; and at one time he hadtaken the lead among the neighbouring landowners, when he first begantile-drainage. In those days people used to speak of Squire Hamley'shobby; and at market ordinaries, or county dinners, they ratherdreaded setting him off on long repetitions of arguments from thedifferent pamphlets on the subject which he had read. And now theproprietors all around him were draining--draining; his interestto Government was
running on all the same, though his works werestopped, and his tiles deteriorating in value. It was not a soothingconsideration, and the Squire was almost ready to quarrel with hisshadow. He wanted a vent for his ill-humour; and suddenly rememberingthe devastations on his covers, which he had heard about not aquarter of an hour before, he rode towards the men busy at work onLord Cumnor's land. Just before he got up to them he encounteredMr. Preston, also on horseback, come to overlook his labourers. TheSquire did not know him personally, but from the agent's mannerof speaking, and the deference that was evidently paid to him, Mr.Hamley saw that he was a responsible person. So he addressed theagent:--"I beg your pardon, I suppose you are the manager of theseworks?"
Mr. Preston replied,--"Certainly. I am that and many other thingsbesides, at your service. I have succeeded Mr. Sheepshanks in themanagement of my lord's property. Mr. Hamley of Hamley, I believe?"
The Squire bowed stiffly. He did not like his name to be asked orpresumed upon in that manner. An equal might conjecture who he was,or recognize him, but, till he announced himself, an inferior had noright to do more than address him respectfully as "sir." That was theSquire's code of etiquette.
"I am Mr. Hamley of Hamley. I suppose you are as yet ignorant of theboundary of Lord Cumnor's land, and so I will inform you that myproperty begins at the pond yonder--just where you see the rise inthe ground."
"I am perfectly acquainted with that fact, Mr. Hamley," said Mr.Preston, a little annoyed at the ignorance attributed to him. "Butmay I inquire why my attention is called to it just now?"
The Squire was beginning to boil over; but he tried to keep histemper in. The effort was very much to be respected, for it was agreat one. There was something in the handsome and well-dressedagent's tone and manner inexpressibly irritating to the squire, andit was not lessened by an involuntary comparison of the capitalroadster on which Mr. Preston was mounted with his own ill-groomedand aged cob.
"I have been told that your men out yonder do not respect theseboundaries, but are in the habit of plucking up gorse from my coversto light their fires."
"It is possible they may!" said Mr. Preston, lifting his eyebrows,his manner being more nonchalant than his words. "I daresay theythink no great harm of it. However, I'll inquire."
"Do you doubt my word, sir?" said the Squire, fretting his mare tillshe began to dance about. "I tell you I've heard it only within thislast half-hour."
"I don't mean to doubt your word, Mr. Hamley; it's the last thingI should think of doing. But you must excuse my saying that theargument which you have twice brought up for the authenticity of yourstatement, 'that you have heard it within the last half-hour,' is notquite so forcible as to preclude the possibility of a mistake."
"I wish you'd only say in plain language that you doubt my word,"said the Squire, clenching and slightly raising his horsewhip. "Ican't make out what you mean--you use so many words."
"Pray don't lose your temper, sir. I said I should inquire. You havenot seen the men pulling up gorse yourself, or you would have namedit. I, surely, may doubt the correctness of your information untilI have made some inquiry; at any rate, that is the course I shallpursue, and if it gives you offence, I shall be sorry, but I shalldo it just the same. When I am convinced that harm has been done toyour property, I shall take steps to prevent it for the future, andof course, in my lord's name, I shall pay you compensation--it mayprobably amount to half-a-crown." He added these last words in alower tone, as if to himself, with a slight contemptuous smile on hisface.
"Quiet, mare, quiet," said the Squire, totally unaware that he wasthe cause of her impatient movements by the way he was perpetuallytightening her reins; and also, perhaps, he unconsciously addressedthe injunction to himself.
Neither of them saw Roger Hamley, who was just then approaching themwith long, steady steps. He had seen his father from the door of oldSilas's cottage, and, as the poor fellow was still asleep, he wascoming to speak to his father, and was near enough now to hear thenext words.
"I don't know who you are, but I've known land-agents who weregentlemen, and I've known some who were not. You belong to this lastset, young man," said the squire, "that you do. I should like to trymy horsewhip on you for your insolence."
"Pray, Mr. Hamley," replied Mr. Preston, coolly, "curb your temper alittle, and reflect. I really feel sorry to see a man of your age insuch a passion:"--moving a little farther off, however, but reallymore with a desire to save the irritated man from carrying his threatinto execution, out of a dislike to the slander and excitement itwould cause, than from any personal dread. Just at this moment RogerHamley came close up. He was panting a little, and his eyes were verystern and dark; but he spoke quietly enough.
"Mr. Preston, I can hardly understand what you mean by your lastwords. But, remember, my father is a gentleman of age and position,and not accustomed to receive advice as to the management of histemper from young men like you."
THE BURNING OF THE GORSE.]
"I desired him to keep his men off my land," said the Squire tohis son--his wish to stand well in Roger's opinion restraining histemper a little; but though his words might be a little calmer, therewere all other signs of passion present--the discoloured complexion,the trembling hands, the fiery cloud in his eyes. "He refused, anddoubted my word."
Mr. Preston turned to Roger, as if appealing from Philip drunk toPhilip sober, and spoke in a tone of cool explanation, which, thoughnot insolent in words, was excessively irritating in manner.
"Your father has misunderstood me--perhaps it is no wonder," tryingto convey, by a look of intelligence at the son, his opinion that thefather was in no state to hear reason. "I never refused to do whatwas just and right. I only required further evidence as to the pastwrong-doing; your father took offence at this," and then he shruggedhis shoulders, and lifted his eyebrows in a manner he had formerlylearnt in France.
"At any rate, sir! I can scarcely reconcile the manner and wordsto my father, which I heard you use when I first came up, with thedeference you ought to have shown to a man of his age and position.As to the fact of the trespass--"
"They are pulling up all the gorse, Roger--there'll be no coverwhatever for game soon," put in the Squire.
Roger bowed to his father, but took up his speech at the point it wasat before the interruption.
"I will inquire into it myself at a cooler moment; and if I find thatsuch trespass or damage has been committed, of course I shall expectthat you will see it put a stop to. Come, father! I am going tosee old Silas--perhaps you don't know that he is very ill." So heendeavoured to wile the Squire away to prevent further words. He wasnot entirely successful.
Mr. Preston was enraged by Roger's calm and dignified manner,and threw after them this parting shaft, in the shape of a loudsoliloquy,--
"Position, indeed! What are we to think of the position of a man whobegins works like these without counting the cost, and comes to astand-still, and has to turn off his labourers just at the beginningof winter, leaving--"
They were too far off to hear the rest. The Squire was on the pointof turning back before this, but Roger took hold of the reins of theold mare, and led her over some of the boggy ground, as if to guideher into sure footing, but, in reality, because he was determined toprevent the renewal of the quarrel. It was well that the cob knewhim, and was, indeed, old enough to prefer quietness to dancing; forMr. Hamley plucked hard at the reins, and at last broke out with anoath,--"Damn it, Roger! I'm not a child; I won't be treated as such.Leave go, I say!"
Roger let go; they were now on firm ground, and he did not wish anywatchers to think that he was exercising any constraint over hisfather; and this quiet obedience to his impatient commands did moreto soothe the Squire than anything else could have effected justthen.
"I know I turned them off--what could I do? I'd no more money fortheir weekly wages; it's a loss to me, as you know. He doesn't know,no one knows, but I think your mother would, how it cut me to turn'em off just before winter set in. I lay awake
many a night thinkingof it, and I gave them what I had--I did, indeed. I hadn't got moneyto pay 'em, but I had three barren cows fattened, and gave everyscrap of meat to the men, and I let 'em go into the woods and gatherwhat was fallen, and I winked at their breaking off old branches, andnow to have it cast up against me by that cur--that servant. But I'llgo on with the works, by ----, I will, if only to spite him. I'llshow him who I am. My position, indeed! A Hamley of Hamley takes ahigher position than his master. I'll go on with the works, see ifI don't! I'm paying between one and two hundred a year interest onGovernment money. I'll raise some more if I go to the Jews; Osbornehas shown me the way, and Osborne shall pay for it--he shall. I'llnot put up with insults. You shouldn't have stopped me, Roger! I wishto heaven I'd horsewhipped the fellow!"
He was lashing himself again into an impotent rage, painful to a sonto witness; but just then the little grandchild of old Silas, whohad held the Squire's horse during his visit to the sick man, camerunning up, breathless:
"Please, sir, please, squire, mammy has sent me; grandfather haswakened up sudden, and mammy says he's dying, and would you pleasecome; she says he'd take it as a kind compliment, she's sure."
So they went to the cottage, the Squire speaking never a word, butsuddenly feeling as if lifted out of a whirlwind and set down in astill and awful place.
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