Greene Ferne Farm Part 6

Valentine, Geoffrey, and Felix, who were there, crowded to the window.

"Whoa, Diamond! Captain, whoa!" cried Margaret, bringing up her convoy on the lawn in fine style. "Now, mamma dear, jump up! We're all going haymaking, as the men won't."

"She has solved the problem," said Valentine. "Here's one volunteer!"

And he sprang up.

That very morning they had been holding a council to see if anything could be suggested to put an end to the strike. It had now lasted nearly a fortnight Felix in vain argued with the men; they listened respectfully, and even admitted that he was right; but all they would say was that "they meaned to have th' crownd."

Slow to take action, there is no one so stubborn, when once he has resolved, as the agricultural labourer. They had timed the strike with some cunning. They had let the mowers cut some sixty acres of gra.s.s, and then suddenly stopped work. They knew very well that if cut gra.s.s is allowed to remain exposed to the sun longer than just sufficient to make it into hay, it dries up so much as to be of little value. Now the burning brilliant summer suns.h.i.+ne had been pouring down upon the withered gra.s.s for days and days, expelling every particle of the succulent sap, and turning it to a brittle straw. The shepherd, Jabez, remained at his work, and he and Augustus Ba.s.set, the "bailie," did a little, throwing up a mead or two into "wakes" for carting; but their exertions were of small avail. While they talked and deliberated, Margaret, beckoning May, slipped out and went down to the stables.

Diamond and Captain were led out into the suns.h.i.+ne, and stood like statuary, waiting to be bidden. For the beauty of simple strength nothing equals a fine cart-horse: the vast frame, the ponderous limb, the ma.s.sive neck, speak of power in repose. Their large dark l.u.s.trous eyes followed the girls with calm astonishment; but, docile and gentle, they gave implicit obedience to orders. The heavy harness, bra.s.s-mounted, was as much as ever the two girls could manage to lift; and when it came to hoisting up the shafts of the waggon they were at a loss. But Jabez, hearing a noise at the stables, came up; and after him slouched Augustus, muttering to himself, as usual. So just when the council indoors was beginning to wonder what had become of Margaret and May, crack, crack, and the jingling of harness put an end to their deliberations.

Geoffrey quickly followed Valentine; Felix, more thoughtful, brought a chair for Mrs Estcourt, who, half laughing, half protesting, against Margaret's wilful fancy, got up. Augustus sat on the shafts, Jabez stood by the leader, and, seeing them all in, started for the field.

"If you were to bring out a thirty-six-gallon cask," said Augustus, whose red nose peered over the front part of the waggon, "and set it up on a hayc.o.c.k, I'll warn them chaps would come back fast enough." This was one word for the haymakers and two for himself.

"I'm sure I don't grudge them some ale," said Mrs Estcourt. "But they are really very unreasonable. One of the servants took a mower a quart of beer. He said he did not like it, and didn't want so much, and poured it out on the gra.s.s. Next day only a pint was sent to him: 'Why y'ent you brought me a quart?' said he. 'Because you flung it away,'

was the reply. 'Aw, that don't matter. You bring I a quart. I'll have my mishure,' [measure]; nor should I mind paying the extra five s.h.i.+llings; but you see, Felix, if I pay it, all the farmers round--for they have only struck work on my place, thinking, no doubt, that, being a woman, I must give way--will be obliged to do so, and some of them are not able. Many have called and begged me not; and Mr Thorpe says the same. Yet I don't like it. We have always been on good terms with the men."

"O yes, you pets 'em up," said Augustus, "just like so many children; and, of course, they ain't going to work for you."

"The struggle of capital and labour," began Felix learnedly, when a sudden jolt of the springless waggon threw him off his balance, and he had to cling to the sides.

"O, mind the gatepost!" cried Mrs Estcourt, in some alarm.

While they were near the house Jabez went slow; but the moment he reached the open field away he started, and what with the jingling of the harness, the creaking of the wheels, and the necessity for holding on tight, conversation became impossible. The waggon rose up and sloped down over the furrows of the meadow as a boat pitches in a sea.

"Woaght! whoa!" shouted Jabez, drawing up among the hay. "This be it; the p.r.o.ngs be in the ditch."

When they had descended, he went to the hawthorn bush, pulled out some p.r.o.ngs, and then scrambled up into the waggon himself. "Now then, you lards and gennelmen, one on 'ee get each side, and pitch up thaay wakes [ridges of hay put ready for the purpose of loading], and mind as you doan't stick your farks into I. The wimmen--I means the ladies--wull rake behind, and paason can help um--th' rakes be hung on th' hedge.

Now, bailie, look arter them 'osses."

Though hay looks light and easy to lift, yet when the fork has gathered a goodly bundle, to hoist it high overhead, and continue the operation, is really heavy labour. Valentine was physically a smaller made man than Geoffrey, whose broad shoulders had also been developed both by athletic exercise at home and by work in Australia--work done from choice, not necessity. But though smaller, Valentine was extremely tough, wiry, and nimble, as is often the case with gentlemen who "fancy"

horses. Quick in his movements, he caught the knack of "pitching"

almost immediately. He hastily flung up his "wake" as far as the horse in the shafts, and then walked to the rear of the waggon where Margaret was raking, leaving Geoffrey still engaged.

Margaret and May were looking at a nest of harvest-trows, as the tiny mice are called that breed in the gra.s.s. Valentine began to talk about his horses, knowing Margaret was fond of animals, and said that a "string" of his would pa.s.s Greene Ferne in the evening _en route_ to his stables. Now Geoffrey, glancing back, saw the group apparently in earnest conversation from which he was excluded; and noting Margaret's attention to Valentine, grew jealous and angry. Just as he finished "pitching," and was about to join them--

"Tchek!" from Augustus, and on the horses moved, and he had to recommence work. Valentine ran with his p.r.o.ng, and again, by dint of great exertions, finished his side first, and returned to Margaret.

"Tchek! woaght!"

The third time Valentine essayed the same task, delighted to leave Geoffrey in the cold, and to exhibit his superior prowess. But Geoffrey by now had learned how to handle his fork. His muscles were strung, his blood was up, he warmed to his work, and pitched vast bundles that all but buried and half choked Jabez, who was loading on the waggon.

"The dust be all down my droat! Aw, doan't 'ee, measter!" he cried, in smothered tones.

"Tchek!" and this time Valentine was far behind, and Geoffrey had gone back to talk to Margaret. At the next move Geoffrey not only cleared his side up to the horse in the shafts, but by using his great strength to the utmost, went ahead up the wake eight or ten yards, and thus secured himself twice as long with her, while Valentine had to remain "pitching." To Jabez the shepherd, on the waggon, it was fine sport to watch the rivalry of the "gennelmen." A labouring man thoroughly enjoys seeing the perspiration pouring from the faces of the well-to-do. He bustled about as fast as he could, and kept the horses moving. By superior muscular force Geoffrey remained ahead. To Valentine it was gall and wormwood.

"We be getting on famous, zur," said Jabez. "Tchek!"

Mrs Estcourt had meantime left the field, after beckoning to Augustus, who followed her. While she was present there was some check on their rivalry; but no sooner did they perceive that she was gone than it rose to a still greater height. Valentine, pulling himself together, and taking advantage of a thinner wake than usual, ran ahead, and went back to the rear. Seeing this, Geoffrey hurled the hay up with such force and vigour that he literally covered the shepherd, who could barely struggle out of it.

"Lord, I be as dry as a gicks!" said Jabez, when he did get free, and meaning by his simile the stem of a dead hedge-plant.

"And here's bailie wi' th' bottle. Bide a bit, my lards."

By this time "my lards" thoroughly understood why haymakers like their ale, and plenty of it. Working under the hot sun, with the dust or dry pollen flying from the hay, causes intense thirst. So the waggon stood still, and Valentine, hot and angry, took the bottle--being the nearest--from Augustus, and essayed to drink. This "bottle" was a miniature cask of oaken staves, with iron hoops, and a leathern strap to carry it by. It held about a gallon. To drink, the method is to put the lips to the bung-hole, situate at the largest part of the circ.u.mference, toss the barrel up, and hold the head back. Valentine could not get more than the merest sip, though the bottle was quite full. This, scientifically speaking, was caused by the pressure of the atmosphere. There is the same difficulty in drinking from a flask.

"Let th' aair in--let th' aair in!" said the shepherd, himself an adept.

"Open th' carner of yer mouth."

But attempting to do that Val let too much "aair" in, and spilt the ale, to his intense disgust.

"Put th' cark in, zur, and chuck un up to I." Jabez caught the "bottle"

as tenderly as a mother would her infant and quitted not his hold till half the contents had disappeared, nor would he have left it then, had not Augustus grumbled and claimed his turn. Mrs Estcourt now returned, attended by a servant carrying a basket of refreshments for which she had gone, not forgetting the more civilised bottles issued by the divine Ba.s.s. Throwing down forks and rakes, they a.s.sembled in the shade of the tall hawthorn hedge and sat down on the hay. When the delicate flavour of his cigar floated away on the soft summer air, even Valentine's acerbity of temper relaxed. Opposite, at some distance, stood the waggon now fully loaded; Diamond and Captain eating the hay put for them, and the shepherd lying at full length on the gra.s.s. Augustus, the "bottle" by his side, and his hand laid lovingly on it, fell asleep in the shade of the waggon.

The wild-roses on the briars that stretched out from the hedge towards the meadow opened their petals full to the warmth. The breeze rustled the leaves of the elm overhead. Rich flute-like notes of music came from the copse hard by--it was the blackbird.

"Ah, this is merry England," said Felix, who loved his cigar, watching the tiny cloud float away from its tip. "The blackbird sings in the scorching sun at noonday, when the other songbirds are silent. You did not know Geof was a writer, did you?" He drew forth a piece of paper, when Newton began to protest, and would have taken it from him by main force, had not the ladies insisted on hearing the contents. So Felix read the verses.

Noontide in the Meadow.

Idly silent were the finches-- Finches fickle, fleeting, blithe; And the mower, man of inches, Ceased to swing the st.u.r.dy scythe.

All the leafy oaks were slumb'rous; Slumb'rous e'en the honey-bee; And his larger brother, c.u.mbrous, Humming home with golden knee.

But the blackbird, king of hedgerows-- Hedgerows to my memory dear-- By the brook, where rush and sedge grows, Sang his liquid love-notes clear.

Margaret, toying with a June rose--the white petal delicately tinted with pink between her soft rosy fingers--dreamily repeated half to herself,--

"All the leafy oaks were slumb'rous."

Valentine glanced at her swiftly, and inwardly resolved to remove the impression on her mind. He took out his pocket-book.

"My verses," said he, "are only copied, but they seemed to me a gem in their way. It is a piece of Bacchic meditation from the Vaux de Vire, exquisitely translated by some clever author whose name I have forgotten. You are gazing at our friend Augustus' bibulous nose," he nodded towards the rec.u.mbent figure with the hand on the bottle, "and see it through your own gla.s.s:

"Fair nose! whose beauties many pipes have cost Of white and rosy wine; Whose colours are so gorgeously embossed In red and purple fine; Great nose, who views thee, gazing through great gla.s.s, Thee still more lovely thinks.

Thou dost the nose of creature far surpa.s.s Who only water drinks."

It was so appropriate to poor Augustus that they could not choose but smile. Valentine begged Margaret to sing: they all joined in the request, and she sang with a faint blush, looking down--for she knew, though the rest did not, that it was Geoffrey's favourite--the beautiful old ballad of the "Bailiff's Daughter of Islington." With the wild-rose in her hand, the delicate bloom on her cheek, the green hedge behind, the green elm above, and the sweet scent of the hay, she looked the ballad as well as sang it.

"Ah," said Felix, "no sign of study in those old ballads, no premeditation, no word-twisting and jerking; rugged metre so involved that none can understand it without pondering an hour or two. This is the way we criticise poetry now-a-days, in our mechanical age--just listen: somebody has been measuring Tennyson with a foot-rule. I read from a professor's a.n.a.lysis--'The line is varied by dactylic or iambic subst.i.tution, as well as by truncation and anacrusis;' 'the line is varied by anapaestic and trochaic (rarely dactylic) subst.i.tutions, and by initial truncation.' As Faust says, not all these word-twisters have ever made a Maker yet."

Cras.h.!.+--splintering of wood and breaking of boughs.

"Here gwoes! Come on, you! Hoorah! Us ull put it up, missus; doan't 'ee be afeared! you bin a good missus to we. So into't, you vellers!"

Eight or ten men came cras.h.i.+ng through a gap in the hedge, and seizing the p.r.o.ngs and rakes that were lying about with no more explanation than these brief e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns, dashed out to work. Heartily tired of rambling idly about, hands in pockets, seeing no prospect of the men on the other farms joining them, they had been hanging round the place in a sheepish way, till, finally observing the ladies working, the sense of shame got the better, and they made a rush for the hay, and gave up the strike. For there is sterling worth and some rude chivalry in these men, though simple enough, and easily led astray; the more the pity that no one has yet taken the lead among them with a view to their own real and solid advancement.