Shirley
a good cause, the fit representative of a powerful, a resolute, a
sensible, and an honest nation."
"Your good cause, as far as I understand it, is simply the restoration
of that filthy, feeble Ferdinand to a throne which he disgraced. Your
fit representative of an honest people is a dull-witted drover, acting
for a duller-witted farmer; and against these are arrayed victorious
supremacy and invincible genius."
"Against legitimacy is arrayed usurpation; against modest,
single-minded, righteous, and brave resistance to encroachment is
arrayed boastful, double-tongued, selfish, and treacherous ambition to
possess. God defend the right!"
"God often defends the powerful."
"What! I suppose the handful of Israelites standing dryshod on the
Asiatic side of the Red Sea was more powerful than the host of the
Egyptians drawn up on the African side? Were they more numerous? Were
they better appointed? Were they more mighty, in a word--eh? Don't
speak, or you'll tell a lie, Moore; you know you will. They were a poor,
overwrought band of bondsmen. Tyrants had oppressed them through four
hundred years; a feeble mixture of women and children diluted their thin
ranks; their masters, who roared to follow them through the divided
flood, were a set of pampered Ethiops, about as strong and brutal as the
lions of Libya. They were armed, horsed, and charioted; the poor Hebrew
wanderers were afoot. Few of them, it is likely, had better weapons than
their shepherds' crooks or their masons' building-tools; their meek and
mighty leader himself had only his rod. But bethink you, Robert Moore,
right was with them; the God of battles was on their side. Crime and the
lost archangel generalled the ranks of Pharaoh, and which triumphed? We
know that well. 'The Lord saved Israel that day out of the hand of the
Egyptians, and Israel saw the Egyptians dead upon the sea-shore'--yea,
'the depths covered them, they sank to the bottom as a stone.' The right
hand of the Lord became glorious in power; the right hand of the Lord
dashed in pieces the enemy!"
"You are all right; only you forget the true parallel. France is Israel,
and Napoleon is Moses. Europe, with her old overgorged empires and
rotten dynasties, is corrupt Egypt; gallant France is the Twelve Tribes,
and her fresh and vigorous Usurper the Shepherd of Horeb."
"I scorn to answer you."
Moore accordingly answered himself--at least, he subjoined to what he
had just said an additional observation in a lower voice.
"Oh, in Italy he was as great as any Moses! He was the right thing
there, fit to head and organize measures for the regeneration of
nations. It puzzles me to this day how the conqueror of Lodi should have
condescended to become an emperor, a vulgar, a stupid humbug; and still
more how a people who had once called themselves republicans should have
sunk again to the grade of mere slaves. I despise France! If England had
gone as far on the march of civilization as France did, she would hardly
have retreated so shamelessly."
"You don't mean to say that besotted imperial France is any worse than
bloody republican France?" demanded Helstone fiercely.
"I mean to say nothing, but I can think what I please, you know, Mr.
Helstone, both about France and England; and about revolutions, and
regicides, and restorations in general; and about the divine right of
kings, which you often stickle for in your sermons, and the duty of
non-resistance, and the sanity of war, and----"
Mr. Moore's sentence was here cut short by the rapid rolling up of a
gig, and its sudden stoppage in the middle of the road. Both he and the
rector had been too much occupied with their discourse to notice its
approach till it was close upon them.
"Nah, maister; did th' wagons hit home?" demanded a voice from the
vehicle.
"Can that be Joe Scott?"
"Ay, ay!" returned another voice; for the gig contained two persons, as
was seen by the glimmer of its lamp. The men with the lanterns had now
fallen into the rear, or rather, the equestrians of the rescue-party had
outridden the pedestrians. "Ay, Mr. Moore, it's Joe Scott. I'm bringing
him back to you in a bonny pickle. I fand him on the top of the moor
yonder, him and three others. What will you give me for restoring him to
you?"
"Why, my thanks, I believe; for I could better have afforded to lose a
better man. That is you, I suppose, Mr. Yorke, by your voice?"
"Ay, lad, it's me. I was coming home from Stilbro' market, and just as I
got to the middle of the moor, and was whipping on as swift as the wind
(for these, they say, are not safe times, thanks to a bad government!),
I heard a groan. I pulled up. Some would have whipt on faster; but I've
naught to fear that I know of. I don't believe there's a lad in these
parts would harm me--at least, I'd give them as good as I got if they
offered to do it. I said, 'Is there aught wrong anywhere?' ''Deed is
there,' somebody says, speaking out of the ground, like. 'What's to do?
Be sharp and tell me,' I ordered. 'Nobbut four on us ligging in a
ditch,' says Joe, as quiet as could be. I telled 'em more shame to 'em,
and bid them get up and move on, or I'd lend them a lick of the
gig-whip; for my notion was they were all fresh. 'We'd ha' done that an
hour sin', but we're teed wi' a bit o' band,' says Joe. So in a while I
got down and loosed 'em wi' my penknife; and Scott would ride wi' me, to
tell me all how it happened; and t' others are coming on as fast as
their feet will bring them."
"Well, I am greatly obliged to you, Mr. Yorke."
"Are you, my lad? You know you're not. However, here are the rest
approaching. And here, by the Lord, is another set with lights in their
pitchers, like the army of Gideon; and as we've th' parson wi',
us--good-evening, Mr. Helstone--we'se do."
Mr. Helstone returned the salutation of the individual in the gig very
stiffly indeed. That individual proceeded,--
"We're eleven strong men, and there's both horses and chariots amang us.
If we could only fall in wi' some of these starved ragamuffins of
frame-breakers we could win a grand victory. We could iv'ry one be a
Wellington--that would please ye, Mr. Helstone--and sich paragraphs as
we could contrive for t' papers! Briarfield suld be famous. But we'se
hev a column and a half i' th' _Stilbro' Courier_ ower this job, as it
is, I dare say. I'se expect no less."
"And I'll promise you no less, Mr. Yorke, for I'll write the article
myself," returned the rector.
"To be sure--sartainly! And mind ye recommend weel that them 'at brake
t' bits o' frames, and teed Joe Scott's legs wi' band, suld be hung
without benefit o' clergy. It's a hanging matter, or suld be. No doubt
o' that."
"If I judged them I'd give them short shrift!" cried Moore. "But I mean
to let them quite alone this bout, to give them rope enough, certain
that in the end they will hang themselves."
"Let them alone, will ye, Moore? Do you promise that?"
"Promise! No. All I mean to say is, I shall give myself no particular
trouble to catch them; but if one falls in my way----"
"You'll snap him up, of course. Only you would rather they would do
something worse than merely stop a wagon before you reckon with them.
Well, we'll say no more on the subject at present. Here we are at my
door, gentlemen, and I hope you and the men will step in. You will none
of you be the worse of a little refreshment."
Moore and Helstone opposed this proposition as unnecessary. It was,
however, pressed on them so courteously, and the night, besides, was so
inclement, and the gleam from the muslin-curtained windows of the house
before which they had halted looked so inviting, that at length they
yielded. Mr. Yorke, after having alighted from his gig, which he left in
charge of a man who issued from an outbuilding on his arrival, led the
way in.
It will have been remarked that Mr. Yorke varied a little in his
phraseology. Now he spoke broad Yorkshire, and anon he expressed himself
in very pure English. His manner seemed liable to equal alternations. He
could be polite and affable, and he could be blunt and rough. His
station then you could not easily determine by his speech and demeanour.
Perhaps the appearance of his residence may decide it.
The men he recommended to take the kitchen way, saying that he would
"see them served wi' summat to taste presently." The gentlemen were
ushered in at the front entrance. They found themselves in a matted
hall, lined almost to the ceiling with pictures. Through this they were
conducted to a large parlour, with a magnificent fire in the grate--the
most cheerful of rooms it appeared as a whole, and when you came to
examine details, the enlivening effect was not diminished. There was no
splendour, but there was taste everywhere, unusual taste--the taste, you
would have said, of a travelled man, a scholar, and a gentleman. A
series of Italian views decked the walls. Each of these was a specimen
of true art. A connoisseur had selected them; they were genuine and
valuable. Even by candle-light the bright clear skies, the soft
distances, with blue air quivering between the eye and the hills, the
fresh tints, and well-massed lights and shadows, charmed the view. The
subjects were all pastoral, the scenes were all sunny. There was a
guitar and some music on a sofa; there were cameos, beautiful
miniatures; a set of Grecian-looking vases on the mantelpiece; there
were books well arranged in two elegant bookcases.
Mr. Yorke bade his guests be seated. He then rang for wine. To the
servant who brought it he gave hospitable orders for the refreshment of
the men in the kitchen. The rector remained standing; he seemed not to
like his quarters; he would not touch the wine his host offered him.
"E'en as you will," remarked Mr. Yorke. "I reckon you're thinking of
Eastern customs, Mr. Helstone, and you'll not eat nor drink under my
roof, feared we suld be forced to be friends; but I am not so particular
or superstitious. You might sup the contents of that decanter, and you
might give me a bottle of the best in your own cellar, and I'd hold
myself free to oppose you at every turn still--in every vestry-meeting
and justice-meeting where we encountered one another."
"It is just what I should expect of you, Mr. Yorke."
"Does it agree wi' ye now, Mr. Helstone, to be riding out after rioters,
of a wet night, at your age?"
"It always agrees with me to be doing my duty; and in this case my duty
is a thorough pleasure. To hunt down vermin is a noble occupation, fit
for an archbishop."
"Fit for ye, at ony rate. But where's t' curate? He's happen gone to
visit some poor body in a sick gird, or he's happen hunting down vermin
in another direction."
"He is doing garrison-duty at Hollow's Mill."
"You left him a sup o' wine, I hope, Bob" (turning to Mr. Moore), "to
keep his courage up?"
He did not pause for an answer, but continued, quickly, still addressing
Moore, who had thrown himself into an old-fashioned chair by the
fireside--"Move it, Robert! Get up, my lad! That place is mine. Take the
sofa, or three other chairs, if you will, but not this. It belangs to
me, and nob'dy else."
"Why are you so particular to that chair, Mr. Yorke?" asked Moore,
lazily vacating the place in obedience to orders.
"My father war afore me, and that's all t' answer I sall gie thee; and
it's as good a reason as Mr. Helstone can give for the main feck o' his
notions."
"Moore, are you ready to go?" inquired the rector.
"Nay; Robert's not ready, or rather, I'm not ready to part wi' him. He's
an ill lad, and wants correcting."
"Why, sir? What have I done?"
"Made thyself enemies on every hand."
"What do I care for that? What difference does it make to me whether
your Yorkshire louts hate me or like me?"