Life in the Cut

Front matter

LIFE IN THE CUT THE "WATERWITCH" AT ANCHOR. LIFE IN THE GUT. BY AMOS READE, Author of "Norah Moriarty." LONDON : SWAN SONNENSCHEIN, LOWHEY & CO., PATERNOSTER SQUARE. 1888. Butler -C- Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Fromc, and London. Iprticatt- TO GEORGE SMITH (of coat.vh.lb), THE MAN WHO HAS DONE MOST FOR THE CANAL PEOPLE OF OLD ENGLAND, LIVING AMONGST US, BUT STILL OUTSIDE THE PALE OF LAW AND CIVILIZATION. CONTENTS. CHAP. TACR I. Gehenna 1 II. Marcia's Mission 14 III. What Benty Thought 27 IV. " This, you Know, is my own Little Girl " . 40 V. "Old Jones's Father" 56 VI. Alone. "Mrs. Old Jones told Oi afore she went to Remember " ..... 69 VII. "Oh! the Pity of It ! the Pity of It!" . 82 VIII. "For Ye sae Douce" 96 IX. The New Life at Deering .... 107 X. " How Long shall They Wait ? " . . .122 XL The Burnham Concert Room .... 135 XII.

Ezra's Disappointment . . . . 149 XIII. The Squire's Will 162 XIV. Steve nAs his Last Drink . . . .176 XV. A Horrible Cremation 189 XVI. Ness' Choice 203 XVII. Lord Corsham " non _s_ ; " 216 XVIII. Found Drowned '231 XIX. "What the World will be" . . . . 247 XX. " It shall Never be said, ' The Nut-brown Maid was to her Love Unkind ' " . . 258 Vill CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGB XXI. There was a New Dignity Born in Adversity 276 XXII. Who Thinks a Woman cannot Change her Mind? 290 XXIII. " Guilty, or Not Guilty— Which ? " . . 310 XXIV. '"Twas ever thus from Childhood's Hour" .

Chapter I. Gehenna

"What is it ? " asked Ness under breath. " The old story, fayther drunk as usual," whispered her brother, sinking back from a listening attitude, and again coiling into as limited a space as was compatible with his length of limb, on the spot they had selected for their night lair, the deck of the Waterwitch. It was a hot summer night, oppressively per meated with noisome miasma, the canal being here fœtid with sewage and refuse from the multitu dinous manufactories of the neighbouring town. The night was starless, dark "with cloud and dank with mist, yet the children preferred the lesser noxiousness of the outer air to the pestiferousness of the family cabin, where at the present lay the mother, a woman with a broken nose, fists like a prize-fighter, and an aldermanic breadth of beam, snoring off the fumes of gin.

Around her, like off shoots from the parent stem, slept three little ones, aged respectively six, four, and two years. The family complexion of these six was all alike, wan B CUT. and grimy, typical of ingrained dirt and low living. Evidently, though perpetually on, almost in, water, not one of these pilgrims had ever tried the healing virtue of its purification outwardly. Ezra, lying by his little sister, was soon oblivious of discomfort, wrapped in a dreamless, lethargic slumber, the blessed oblivion of semi-starved, whole tired humanity. Humanity ! it was scarcely that, little of the human surviving amid the miserable degradation of his normal condition, the surround ings of which were more bestial than those of the nobler order of brute creation. The boy slept ; but the girl, as tired as he, still peered from the poor shelter of an old mat, over her slumbering brother, into the night.

The sounds which had startled them were now approaching nearer, and the blasphemies uttered by the unseen struck terror to her soul ; she trembled, for she knew the unsteady feet trod where a false step might lead to death. The feet came nearer and nearer, wandered to and fro, and the curses grew louder and deeper as the man failed to see his boat. The girl, shivering with her fear, dared not call out. The instinct of self preservation was strong, and past experience had taught that on occasions like the present it was advisable to keep her whereabouts unknown. And yet, as the man wandered away, a great awe possessed the child, left alone in the lonesome nio-ht and afraid for her brutal father. GEHENNA. At last, out of the night a great cry rang in her ears; she shook Ezra, crying, "Wake, 'Zra!

Fay ther is gone over ; hear till him cry ! " Then both children gazed into the mists, from whence came sounds of splashing and the too familiar curses of the man who had fallen in. Partially sobered by the ducking, he was floundering help lessly about, confounding his ill luck. The place was narrow, and not very deep ; had it been daylight, and Steve Strong-in-the-arm sober, he would have found no difficulty in getting out ; as it was, the chances were ten to one he would be drowned. Now and again Steve gulped mouthfuls of unsavoury fluid, but managed to keep afloat, and presently got his hand on to the bank. The bank was sheer, and Steve in his muddled state unable to extricate himself ; he felt along, cursing as he came. " There, there ! I sees he," whispered Ness. " Fayther," called out Ezra, "we's here.

The tow rope is right over your head; catch, and we'll pull ye in." The boy shook the rope as he spoke, and the man caught the slack as it fell on the water by him. Then Ezra and Ness pulled and hauled, and by their united exertions got the man on board. He was wet, miserable, only half sober, and whole savage. "Ye skulking imps, how dare ye! Like your wickedness to put me in the water ! Take that for your pains ! " COT. The brute hit out at little Ness, who stood nearer ; she dropped into the shadow, and the blow fell on Ezra's shoulder. Again and again the man hit out, but the boy eluded in the darkness ; so, still cursing, the father slunk to his lair, tripping as he went, and falling, all dripping as he was, over his prostrate wife. When the man fell, the woman, clenching her fist, struck out, fortunately for both into empty space, missing him as he lay stupefied by her side, where he remained soaking for all that remained of the night, the steam exuded by their animal heat from his saturated garments increasing the pestilent odour of the atmosphere.

At break of day Steve shook himself, and crept out to drive the children to their work. His head was heavy, his brain still muddled, and his great limbs aching. Still his first act was to send Ness to the Boat House, to fetch a quart of beer to quench his burning throat. While the girl, unrested, unkempt, untaught, un willingly went on her distasteful mission, all nature sent up its morning prayer and praise to the Creator — a spiritual psalm of life, which Ness heard and felt and liked, though in her dense ignorance she failed to comprehend, scarce knew it touched her heart. The mystery of nature was a sealed book to her. The waking birds, the hum of insects, even the early worm crawling across her path, would have been a pleasure, had the poor child had heart to enjoy ; GEHENNA. 5 but she was only vaguely conscious all other things save her — that is herself, Ezra, and the little ones — had some hidden spring, some exuberance of life, some pleasure in being, that was unknown to her.

Ness got and brought the beer grudgingly, know ing of her experience — limited in other matters, painfully extensive in this — that morning beer for father meant more blows, harder work, and scantier food for her. Wan and hungry, she plodded back, and found Ezra had already yoked the horse, a poor brute, scantily fed and cared for, like his driver, who limped wearily, as they trudged by his side, encouraging his progress with words and sometimes blows. The father drank his beer, and stretched himself upon the bricks to sleep. The mother steered the boat, while the three little ones squatted, and cried and scratched each other as they rolled over in the bilge. They travelled slowly on, through a fertile coun try, here and there passing masses of wood, seeing vistas terminating in fine mansions, pictures that would have been a wonder and delight to the pilgrim children, had they dared to pause in their progress to admire.

But no, outcasts, miserables, outside the influences of our boasted resources of civilization, these water babes day by day wore away their God-given lives in a slavery more cruel than that of the Soudanese, as they "moved on" through, touched skirts with, and added to the wealth of England, without even tasting of the fruit of their labours. It was mid-day, and the children, who had worked since early morning, still fasted, when they came to a lock gate. Here a stale crust was thrown to them, as you would a bone to a strange dog, and they had a little wait ere the labour of opening the gates was taken in hand. Indeed, the Waterwitch had to wait her turn, other boats being before her in the cut, the masters of whom lounged, smoked, and talked upon the bank, leaving the business of clearing, opening, and shutting the gates to the women and tired children.

Here Steve lands, and finding an hour or more must elapse before the Waterwitch floats in the lower reach, he retires with a congenial companion to the enjoyment of a convenient house of entertainment. The master having given himself leave of absence, Mrs. Strong-in-the-arm, Steve's missus, or Fighting Sal, as she is oftener called, takes the command. If Steve is a hard master, Sal's rule is ten times harder, as the patient bread-winners, old Jack, Ezra, and little Ness, know to their cost. Where he gives curses, she gives blows ; where he gives blows, she viciously kicks. By an inverse ratio of natural sequence, being woman and the weaker sex, so being corrupt, she is the more hopelessly and irredeem ably demoralized of the two. Now she calls harshly, — GEHENNA. 7 " Hey there ! Ness, ye limb, take this 'ere imp in yer arms; she be that fractious, oi scarce can keep me two 'ands off her gullet.

Jump, ye limb, jump when I call ! 'Ow dare ye stare when oi speaks ? Take that for yer laziness, ye ill-thriven minx," shrieked the mother, as, hitting her daughter across the shoulders with a rope's end, she emphasized words with blows. " Oi'll teach ye manners, that I will, an idle, lazy, good-for-nothing, slinging slut ! " Poor Ness cowered over the baby, moaning the sobs she dared not vent, lest a worse thing come upon her; and when her mother's back was turned she stole again on shore, carrying the little sister with her, doing her best to still the cries of the neglected baby, who was suffering from measles, a poor little puny thing, now unsightly from rash and inflammation. Ezra, having placed the wisp of hay and chaff before old Jack that was his mid-day ration, en deavoured to assist Ness in her hopeless task of trying to soothe the baby.

Ezra was fourteen, tall for his age, strong too, notwithstanding short com mons and long work ; and not having yet succumbed to evil example, he had a heart that felt for his little sister, ever doing his best to protect this pet, who had been his first nurse-child. Ness was only ten, the sister who had come between having fortunately been released from the misery of life at the hour of her birth; aud Ezra still remembered the pride with which, at five years of age, he had struggled to carry the first living thing that seemed to care for him in his little arms. Now he sat by her on the bank, cuddling the whining baby to his breast, while Ness laid her tired head on his shoulder, and almost sobbed herself to sleep. But even this poor peace was not of long duration. "'Zra, 'Zra, fend off, boy, fend off quick, don't let the old boat across the current.

The water runs strong; she'll foul the pier and be crushed. Where are you skulking out of reach of my arm, yor good-for-nothing ? " With a sigh Ezra handed the baby to Ness and ran, for he knew well if the boat did foul and did jam, the consequences to the boat and to him would be evil. It was wearisome work, avoiding colliding with the other boats and fouling those narrow piers. And it was hard labour working at the crank, to let the water through the sluice ; hard work, while the burning sun shone down and the sweat poured off the hungry boy's face. Hard work for the girl to nurse the sickly child, and bear the sinking of her empty stomach. Hard work for the woman too, as she stood by the tiller, and fended off with her strong hands from the narrow walls on either side, until she shoved her boat out into the open.

Safe through the lock, there was a comparative breathing space for the toilers. Fighting Sal flung GEHENNA. 9 herself on the deck, sheltered from the blazing sun by the bricks piled high in the boat, to rest her over strained muscles ; the two little ones, who had retired to their kennel to avoid all risk of coming across their mother's notions, while intent on the business of life she navigated her "nor'-'est course," now emerged and clambered upon the deck. They looked longingly at the bank, where Ness and baby were ; they too would like to roll there, where un aided they could not hope to arrive. "'Zra," whispered Zach, "help Sue and oi t' shore." "Don't bother, you rascal; oi is too worked to move a finger fur the pleasure of a viper like o' yer. Ugh ! little sneak ! that stole Ness's crust last night; oi wants none o' yer here; oi is 'shamed o' yer, that oi is.

Lie down where yer is, and be quoiet." " If yer won't," threatened the imp, executing a war-dance on the gunwale, " oi'll go oi's self, oi'll fall, and then she'll whack yer." The little one grinned as, with a backward lick of his tongue, he indicated the recumbent figure of the mother, whose ire he of all the children knew best how to excite or assuage. " Do, 'Zra ; Sue wants to play wid Sal. Oi be gud gurl and love Ness," entreated the little girl. But 'Zra was not to be persuaded. " Lie down, oi say ; leave Ness and oi in peace," COT. growled Ezra, flinging himself beside his favourite on the bank, and turning his back alike on all en treaties and proceedings of the pair. Zach, finding no help was to be had from Ezra, looked knowingly about, and as good as his word, took steps to liberate himself from his prison.

As the child looked, the tow-line suggested itself as a useful auxiliary. Clambering over, and avoiding disturbing his mother, he crept cautiously along the bricks, until he safely reached and proudly perched upon the prow. Then clinging by the rope, he fear lessly went overboard. Now though Zach was only six, and light for his age, his weight dipped the rope as hand over hand he made for the bank. Indeed, more than slacking the rope, Zach's movements gave impetus to the boat, which as he sank in the water seemed to come nearer and nearer, its black hulk following as if to crush him against the wall, which indeed was farther off than he thought when he commenced his journey. The longed-for land now towered over his head on the one side, the approach ing boat on the other, as the child floundered through the water.

But if the boy's experience of life had taught him nothing else good, it had given him courage. He made no cry, but clenching his teeth struggled on, until the strain coming on the land end of the rope, the boat forged past, and then by its greater weight drew the line suddenly taut, jerking the child out of the water with a violence GEHENNA. which all but wrenched the thick rope from his baby fingers. At this inopportune moment little Sue, crawling over, disturbed Steve's missus. "Drat the brat!" cried the mother, seizing1 the little wretch in one hand, and bringing the other down, with more sting than affection, on the half naked body. " What are yer after now ? Where's Zach ? where's 'Zra ? what is Ness about that she don't see after yer ? " Sitting up, the woman looked angrily towards the shore.

The first thing that caught her eye was Zach suspended between air and water, clinging for dear life to his rope, while the boat, contrary to right rule and her will, was drifting stern outward across the narrow water. Now if Steve's missus had a soft spot in her heart for any of her brood, it was for Zach; he was so bright and mischievous, he some times amused her, and others too, and got half pence at the bars for singing and for dancing. Now in tiger rage the mother roared, — " 'Zra, where the mischief are you ? What are you about to let the child in danger ? And see how the boat is. I'll break every bone in your skin when I catch you. Damn yer negligence ! " Ezra, lifting his head, saw the brother's position, rushed at, rescued, and soundly shook him, shower ing on him corrective expletives that were shocking to hear.

Then he assisted his mother to set the boat CUT. straight, after which Sal shook herself, and stepping on shore declared it was high time she went to look after the master. " Keep the little 'uns out of harm while I'm gone, Ness; they can stay ashore while 'Zra puts the horse in the lines. Zach, me man, come with oi ; mayhap you'll get a drop o' comfort to mix with the water that 'as gone inside yer." So saying, mother and son crossed the stile, and followed the path Steve Strong-in-the-arm had taken to find refuge from the ills of life. Left for a few precious moments to her own devices, Ness, laden with the baby, clambered up the bank, longing to feast her eyes on something other than the sluggish water. It was only a dusty road she came to; but there were green fields beyond, and she was out of sight of the monotonous canal that was her dreary road of life.

She squatted in the dust, a miserable little figure, too ragged, dirty, and all ungodlike for pen of mine to describe, or for her to find favour or look picturesque in the eyes of men. She was merely a blot upon the landscape, an un sightly object one would like out of that ! As Ness sat there a carriage came along, a dainty toy phaeton drawn by a pair of spirited ponies, who tossed their heads and switched their long white tails in a wholly bewitching manner to Ness's eyes, as she watched them approaching. They came at a foot pace, driven by a girl; a pretty creature, with GEHENNA. 13 fair hair flowing down her back, all robed in white, and having by her side a basket of gorgeous flowers. Never had Ness seen anything like this before. Had she ever heard of angels, she might have thought this one, but such were unheard of in her sphere ; and indeed she never thought at all, as her eager, hungry eyes clung to this beautiful vision in awe-struck admiration.

The girl saw the child, and looked on her with whole pitiful, half frightened eyes as she passed. She longed of her plenty to throw the poor child a flower, but dared not do so, because the road was lonely, and many ill-looking men and women were close at hand, fighting at the beerhouse round the corner. She was alone, having sent her groom back with a message, and she loitered waiting his return. As the carriage went slowly through the sunshine, Ness's eyes followed it with a great longing. Oh ! could she ever hope to see so lovely a sight again ? Then when it disappeared, when nothing but the lonely road was visible, — all the more lonesome for the fulness of beauty that had been there ; when that little ray of gladness that had for the moment shone in the child's heart vanished, with a sigh she rose up and, dragging the baby with her, went drearily back to her misery.

Chapter II

marcia's mission. " Father, why are people poor ? " It was Marcia Deering queried. She was the squire's only child and idol, since the hour of her birth had left him wifeless, — a petted, pampered treasure, unspoilt despite the spoiling, who from her birth to the present had never known a want or felt a wish ungratified. Reared in luxury, she had never realized a poverty greater than that which the French princess thought might be met by sub stituting currant buns when bread failed : and yet she was so pure, so fresh, so entirely unselfish and untrammelled by the world, of which she knew nothing but the all-cherishing love of her father and the kindly regard of the household, that she asked her question in all earnestness. Marcia's home was sequestered; so, though in her sixteenth year, she had few society acquaintances.

She ruled a world of her own, — the grey-haired servants and the village school ; was a little potentate, fast growing into a queen — one whose wishes would soon be laws unto MAECIA's MISSION. 15 other men, as they already were to her father and another man. Her father answered, — " ' Poor ' ! A law of nature, puss ! One of the mysteries of the great I am that men have failed to fathom. Don't you fret your little heart about it, my pet ; I am only all too thankful that your lot is cast far above the bitter cry of the many." " But that is just it, old pet. Why should people want anything when I have, oh, so many ! heaps and heaps of things I do not want, and indeed do not know what to do with ? It can't be right, you know, old darling." Marcia perched herself on his knee as she spoke. Now Mr. Deering was no old darling, being only forty-five.

He was lethargic and sensuous ; he had indulged nature, nursing melancholy, and evading obvious duties, until he had persuaded himself his only mission in life was to heap up wealth for and lavish love on his little daughter. It pleased him to hear her call him old. But it did not please him that she should want to discuss and sift and air social anomalies, disagreeablenesses which it was his religion to believe were inevitable, decrees which ought not to be meddled with or allowed to trouble men, because they were the necessary outcome of a great rotatory and potential system which was beyond finite power to regulate. In his indolence Mr. Deer ing had not thought over the problem, social system ; so, beyond his spoken vapidity — a parrot formula of a dry aphorism — he had no words ready wherewith to meet his daughter's seriousness.

He stroked her silky hair lovingly, and leaned his brow upon her shoulder in silence. She pulled his hair gently as she insisted, — " But it is not nice, and it can't be right, you know. How can it ? I am actually smothered with good things, have more frocks and shoes and hats than I can possibly wear ; and I saw a child to-day, father, who had no hat, or shoes, or stockings, or covering at all but an old torn jacket and ragged shirt. 0 father, she looked dreadful, so dirty, starved, and stunted, she scarcely seemed a child, more like a wicked hobgoblin; though she did not look wicked either, only wretched and forlorn, nursing another fearful-looking, more uncanny atom than herself." " My dear, you should not go near such people ; it is quite dangerous ! They are sure to have some horrid disease.

At all events, they are wicked and nasty, and likely to say something it is not fit you should hear. Where did you see the wretch ? " " She was no wretch, only wretched ; don't say such unamiable things, you poor dote ! I saw her sitting on the roadside, near the Four Mile House ; and, do you know ? she looked at my flowers as if she would like to have some. I wonder who she was, and how she came there. I never saw any thing like her before." " Oh ! some of those wretched boat people, I suppose. That new canal is a horrid nuisance in the neighbourhood, bringing thieves and rogues, and dirt and drunkenness into our midst. They really are a disgrace to a civilized country. I would not have allowed it here if I could have seen my way to do without it ; but without the canal we could never have sufficiently developed our brickfields.

But you need never go near them, my dear; and I'll have a strict watch kept, to prevent their landing, annoying, or thieving from this place. It is too insupportable to think creatures like that should force themselves on you. But I'll see to it, they shall not trouble you any more, pet." " But she did not trouble me at all ; she never spoke or stirred; she only looked at me, and I at her. And I can't get her face out of mind ; I had no idea anything so dreadful could be. And, father, if they are wicked, isn't that the very reason we should try to make them better ? Why, if she is naughty, should I keep away, and let her go on being naughty ? Would it not be better for me to try and help her to be good ? " " Bless you, child ! always sweet and thoughtful ; but the canal people are so steeped in iniquity, no trying can better their condition.

There, there ! don't puzzle your pretty head about them; content yourself with the duties of your position, attending to my wants, your flowers, and the school, which is c such a credit to you. Why, darling, what more in the world can a child like you do to better it than you are doing, and have done, ever since you could speak, a joy and a blessing to us all ? " Ah ! Bentley, is that you ? " said the squire, in a tone of depressed welcome, as at this juncture approaching steps attracted his attention. Marcia slipped off her father's knee, but stood by his side as the new-comer gave his hand, first to the squire, last to her, with a friendly and familiar greet ing. Honest and true, ruddy and strong, the visitor was a unique specimen of that sturdy race, the veri table English yeoman. For four hundred years Bentleys had lived in the parish, and Harold was a wealthy and substantial man, the squire's right hand and most trusted adviser, Marcia's truest friend and humblest adorer.

He had come, as he came four evenings out of the seven, to discuss business with the squire, and to elucidate, by his larger experience, whatever puzzles might have arisen in Marcia's mind regarding the government of her dominions. The first welcome over, Marcia sat on the seat by her father, and Mr. Bentley stood before them, talking over the squire's last speculation — bricks. A few years back, a distant, and till then profitless, waste of the Deering estate was discovered to possess germs of wealth, capabili ties which Mr. Bentley, an enterprising brick-maker, encouraged the squire to utilize. The squire had yielded to the young man's suggestion, on the under standing that Bentley should work the fields, and that he was not to be troubled in the matter. But as the work progressed, the fields proved of even greater value than at first anticipated, and the squire's bump of acquisitiveness being aroused, and Bentley predict ing that this was a golden opportunity, they joined partnership, the squire remaining a sleeping partner, while Bentley worked the firm for their mutual benefit.

This business had added three-fifths to the squire's income; small wonder then that he had confidence in, and was intimate with, this valuable working man. Mr. Deering's county acquaintances — he had not many with whom he was familiar enough for them to know of his reprehensible weakness, fewer still who were sufficiently interested to take hira to task, but those who were aware of the habit of the house — were shocked that the heiress's future should be compromised by this injudicious intimacy. At last a relative of his dead wife, old Lady Beacham, spoke to Mr. Deering on the subject ; and Mr. Deering felt disturbed, the rose leaves of his life for the moment crumpled. Mr. Deering, however, consoled himself with the knowledge that Marcia was only a child, and Bentley a man of, he supposed, two and thirty, more his contemporary than hers.

Arguing internally that things were very pleasant as they were, that keeping Bentley at a distance would be a trouble,— indeed, considering the terms they were on, well-nigh an impossibility; moreover, that the loss of his society would be a deprivation, this companion ship, besides his child's, being the one of all others he most enjoyed, — the father, shutting his eyes to the possibility of any future unpleasant complication arising, still encouraged the young man to come and go, as if he were one of themselves. And they, father and daughter, came to look for the young man's coming. He ever brought with him a certain refreshment ; the influences of his able mind, fuller life, and keener vitality dispensing a vivifying breeze, which pleasantly stirred the too peacefully oppressive calm of the dreamy luxury of Deering.