The Web of an old Weaver, etc

Front matter

GIVEN IN BY J. KEIGHLEY SNOWDEN AUTHOR OF "TALES OF THE YORKSHIRE'' VVOLDS " LONDON SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & COMPANY, LIMITED St. JlunBtan'B spouse Fetter Lane, Fleet Street, E.C. CHISWICK PRESS I — CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO. TOOKS COURT. CHANCERY LANE, LONDON. TO MY FATHER ERE is a piece of work whereof the Weaver, deeming it nothing out of the common, is well content that you should judge! But I suppose you will be as much surprised as interested by it, because this kind of plain stuff is not now woven. Besides, you know the Old Weaver, and cannot help but wonder how I got him to work ; for he will hardly forego his fireside ease or his out-door musings to serve God (in any orthodox fashion), being, of all men I have had to do with, the most tenacious of his ways. I must give you that story some late evening.

This, his own, may better please you meantime. It is in the mother-tongue, the same rude Northern English tongue that sounds in the right version of " Chevy Chase ; " and if he is nothing lyrical (gallantly goes the blood to that great ballad!), at any rate VI TO MY FATHER. this history may put you in mind of how they " manned it : " For Wetharryngton my harte was wo That ever he slayne shulde be ; For when his leggis were hewen in to, Yet he kneled and fought on his kne. J. K. S. CONTENTS. PAGE The Undertaking i

Chapter I

A Pattern-Piece 5 II. Weasel 17 III. Elizabeth 28 IV. Binnie Driver 34 V. Poaching and Better Luck .... 49 VI. Weaving and Worse Luck .... 63 VII. I Go A-Courting 74 VIII. The Kildwick Murder 87 IX. One on My Back 101 X. The Blind Ghyll 113 XI. Hue and Cry 129 XII. Weasel Puts His Head in a Noose . . 142 XIII. I Put Away Love Matters . . . .156 XIV. Sport for Devilment 167 XV. In Two Minds 176 XVI. Help Out of Lancashire . . . .187 XVII. I Lose a Mate and a Keepsake . . .193 XVIII. But I Find My Own Again . . . .202 XIX. Leave to Hold It THE UNDERTAKING. F this tale be printed, I must stand on a right footing with any that read it. Whatever skill may have come of writing other folk's letters and my own, or reading in winter time when I could, or listening to better scholars when they came into this part, such I have, but no more ; and it is so small, that I have been nigh on three years planning and pimpering before I could frame to make a start.

However, the more I planned, the more I saw that the tale had to be telled. Another thing falls to be said : I am writing this one way, that is, as plainly as I can — for I make nought of haffiing and shaffling tales, that keep part back, and sound to me no different fro lies — but it is to be printed another way, and that is, after it has been B trimmed and pruned by one in the kittle way of doing such work. But for this, I would not have ventured as far as the length of a pen, for all that he said, or any other.1 There will be some to say that I ought to have kept the swarth on queer matters, and most of all on the matter that nigh drew a rope round my own neck ; but if I be not ashamed to set down my part in them, all others but one being gathered to their account, I cannot see that any beside this one has a say in it.

As for what folk may think of Cragside, I have no patience to talk. At that time such things were done lightly that if men did them now they would be clapped in the hole ; but if men had been taken then for 't, everybody had cried shame. We have fallen into quieter ways of doing, whether in jest or in earnest. Partly we drink less ale, and partly we walk about with fuller bellies, not fearing want. But there were good men at the worst of it, nay, some better men than I can see now, anywhere in this parish. Now then, if I gloss over all that was evil, I shall blur what was good, for the one hangs upon the other like sunshine upon rain. Ye will see nought but a dull 1 I have done little more than to simplify some passages of dialect, so that these shall present no difficulty to readers un familiar with Yorkshire.* — J. K. S. THE UNDERTAKING. 3 day.

I shall not be able to show the lofty brightness of Binnie Driver's mind, a man I would any day give my life for, if he were living now ; nor shall I make you understand what a fair and gladsome treasure my poor wench was to me, all through my darkest days — even when I gave myself up for a done man. But what is the use of prating ? I cannot write so, and I will not. If any be not satisfied, I will be candid with them. They cannot but think it a strange and impudent thing for a plain man like me, John o' Jackie' Lad, to set up for a writer. But here is what fairly set me thinking on it. I was in a certain house on baking day, where the wife gave a pinch of dough to her little lass to play with. I said nought ; but I came away, for I could not thoil to see good dough wasted. I thought then that in these days folk hardly know they are living. — When I was a little lad I found a penny once.

There were seven of us lads in the family, and we took daily turns at scraping the porridge pan. I went to my father and told him about this penny, and said I would give it him if I might scrape the pan three times running. And that way I would have wared (spent) it. We had nought but " porridge and stop " then, and sometimes we had not that. I can tell of my mother fainting one morning, when she had served us all round and left herself none ; and that morning I had scraped the pan. Now till I saw that little lass making a doll out of good dough, I had felt to have no stomach for this business, for it looked to me like vanity ; but I saw then that it is man's work. Else I am sixty and five years old, and I cannot care to sit long at a time, or shape a tale as well as I might have done when younger.

CHAPTER I

A PATTERN-PIECE, BOUT that time when I found my penny, I used to go a deal with a little wench that lived next house to our folk. We should be ten or twelve years old ; and we strayed and played together as childer will do, before they get old enough to be swamous (shy). If I tell all, I was always in a manner jealous of her, and liked her partly for her rosy, round cheeks, and the golden shine in her flying hair ; nay, some times we reckoned to be wed, and acted it out as well as we knew, laughing over it and keeping very secret-like ; but there was no right sweetheart ing, nought but childish pastime, as you may under stand. We were a little matter akin, too — as we very near all are in Cragside, if a man will trace it back. We gat together of a summer night, or a Saturday and Sunday, and wandered where we listed, groping for fish in the becks, scrambling up and down the gritstone crags, or getting stuff to eat — pignuts, sour docks, haegs and epps (berries of hawthorn and rose), as well as wild fruit that comes to the table.

Childer eat all these nowadays, but they do it more for sport and less for need nor we did. I have known us eat the grass itself; and sweet and pleasant it is to taste. Sometimes there were others with us, but always you might see us two. If we could, I believe we should have spent every day together ; but I was not free to do as I would in the daytime, being put to work in Binnie Driver's weaving shop when I left school at nine years old. Now for all I have lived with a wife near forty years, and had more than my share, as I judge, of this world's joys, there is no time that comes so oft into my thoughts, and troubles them so little, as that time of gaumless happiness. Being hungry is a matter that leaves no fret on a lad's mind after he has filled his belly ; and it just appears to me that childhood was like a clear sunrise.

But I am almost tied to show one thing that chanced to me and this wee mate of mine — whose right name was Lizzie Ayre — though as to surnames we never deal much in them. It happened by an accident ; and it was like a warning, that I had not the sense to heed. We had wandered rather too far that day, and been lost for a time. It came night, or near it, afore we could shape our way rightly, and she cried a deal, being overdone. However, we got as far as into Hardaker Park, and that is near home ; wherefore we might have fared through and saved a lacing (thrash ing) if it had not lighted otherwise. For as we came along hand in hand, making our hearts gay against a fearsome darkness, she broke away and ran far fro me, screaming. I did not race her, thinking at first she had done 't for a marlake ; but when I heard her give one scream after another I knew she was affrighted.

We were in the very depth of a gloomy part. They say yet that the coach-and-six rides across it, carrying headless folk, and there are that will not pass through it alone. When there is wind you can hear strange noises among the trees ; and if the wind draw off suddenly, as oft it will do, there comes a fearful whispering up fro the beck, that prattles away deepish down betwixt him that listens and a lofty wood on the hillside over anent. I thought myself brave that I did not run after her, but I do believe my legs shook over much for running, through being eager-like to see what had flaed her ; and when once I had turned back to see her, I was fain to be away fro the place. She gave me a start, be sides, standing to wait for me at the first gate, for it was too dark to make out the gray shape of her as soon as it was seen, and I fancied it tall by Lizzie.

But I was most flaed of all to feel her hold fast to me, shaking pitifully as if she would never stop. " What did ye see ? " I asked. She said, " A gurt white thing," and " It held up it* arms ; " so there was no road for us that way. Of course, lad-like, I scoffed at it, and showed her a face bolder nor my spirit ; but nought that I said could move her to venture with me again, and albeit this jaeged * against my pride, I was well content to bide there till somebody should pass. It was in this way that we came to spend a night out of doors, and see a thing that was not fit for children's watching. For with long waiting we fell peepy ; and the next I know, it was coming light. We had gone in beneath a lime-kiln, where there had been no burning since lime was burnt for the Manor House : I can just tell of looking out towards where the path is, and seeing a mist spread over the level ground be tween us and the beck, about up to a man's middle.

It was hardly to be made out in such a darkness, and I marvelled at the snod even line of it, so low, and never shifting. I judge I fell asleep looking at it. My little mate had been sound long enough then, curled up with her pretty head on one bare arm ; and if I had but known it, she was the rarer marvel. I can 1 A cart-brake is said to " jaeg " against the wheel. see the dew-mist there any calm night in summer, but not her. For ought I knew when my een opened in the gray morning, somebody was tewing (striving) with a pack of awkward beasts. I fancied I had heard a shout ; and there was trampling, and sodden knocks given with heavy sticks, and curses with them, that burst out like as they came fro men hard hodden (pressed). But I was no sooner listening nor a man cried out with pain, and another, his voice grinding in his throat, made answer to him : " D tha, lig still !

" he said. At that I was up like a shot, and I could thank God heartily if I had never known the like of such cruel work as I then saw agate. There would be fifteen or twenty of them, fighting like wild men, and some on the ground that I took for dead. Such vengeful slogging blows you would think no manner of men could take and live. I cannot frame to tell all, for it was sharp work, and when one or another shouted or stumbled, and I looked to see what was done, I missed part. But there was one man, thick set up, that fought two or three, and bested them. It was he that first spake, I judge ; he fought near one that was down, not twenty yards fro the lime-kiln. He strake seldom, but fended and dodged. Yet after a time he ended in a gradely fashion — stooped to take a knock on his shoulders, and then felled the man that dealt it, with a round up-slanting stroke on the neck, rather quick nor heavy ; so at this he that was left standing gave him one half-hearted blow below the shoulder and ran for it, but was overtaen afore he could fairly get away, and fell his length near my feet.

" Now tha'rt my man ! " cried this other then, but at sight of us childer left him untouched, and darted back into the thick of it. Other two gripped one another by the edge of the beck, and went down out of sight together, splashing among stones. They all seemed as keen as dogs, yet specially one man, that went dancing among them doing nought that I could see but shout " Hooy, lads ! Nah then ! At him ! " and such-like little barks. But one or two were bleeding cruelly while they fought, though at first I did not make it out, because in that dull light blood had no right colour, and their faces were not plain to be seen. Now, who they were, all but one, I knew less than what they fought for. But I could guess that, rarely, for the man that had fallen first was a keeper, well known to me by sight.

Cragside lads would go farther away for their rabbits — that is, if they went in a strong gang, to take them by force, and not by sly tricks, an odd one here and there. By their talk, I think this lot must have come over the moor, fro somewhere Haworth way. I was too young to tell fairly. They fought well, how it be ; though it seems to me they were new to it, or they would have said less and kept together. But I do not reckon to be exactly skilled in such matters. What has oftest come back into my mind is a fearful shout that one of them gave when he gat a crack he did not look for. He held his head betwixt his hands and stooped down to run, making a din almost like a pig makes. Now, there was no sense in striking a man that way. He was fighting with another, and the butcher that did it never showed himself but slashed at him fro behind.

And that was the way of this battle, all through. However, it ended then, but for a blow or two. Whether they were sickened, or they gat a startle at hearing Lizzie scream, I cannot tell ; but the keeper's men began to draw off, and he had to follow them sharply. The others did not chase them far, but ran back to their mates that were lamed, and carried one away that seemed to be deeply stunned. Two walked with some helping. They went in a gradely hurry, but still they were careful to take all their caps and things, and some stopped at the beck to redd their selves up a bit. They had need to be cunning. They left a man on the ground, belonging to the keeper's lot, and knew not if he were dead or alive. " This here 's getten fettled," one said when they were gathering up ; and three or four came round him and looked.

" He 's not bleedin'," says another ; " hedn't we best cut him ? " But they decided to leave him to his own mates, and in a twinkling I saw the last of them, looking back as they slipped away among the trees. I know not what was done with this man, or even if we stopped to see. I judge we ran home as fast as we could ; but I never gat to tell my father ought about it till a day or two after. He met us coming home, and gave me as bad a lacing as ever I had fro him ; and that is saying somewhat. However, when he heard one of my brothers talking he questioned me, and gat us all together, and telled us strictly we must keep it quiet or the constable would be after me. And I think we all did so. I can tell of Lizzie's mother calling (scolding) me for filling her head with rubbish, and I dare not say a word against it.

I endured a deal. It was laid to my fancy, and other lads called me " powcher " for sport. My father was a fearful stern man. He said little to us, but when he spake we knew we had to do. The hardest thing that came of this adventure was, that I was kept in from rambling with Lizzie. They did not even let us go seeking bull-heads (miller's thumbs) in the beck, where it runs through the Scar, only a field's length away ; and the Scar is a place where childer never tire — a wide, bushy, sunken spot — left all rough after lime-getting, but mainly grown over, except where the winter floods have stripped it on either side. You can hear all manner of birds there, and sometimes you may see the flash of a king-fisher darting through sun to shade. There were parts where we used to roll down, and parts that were ill to climb ; and we had made a nest among alder-bushes.

But after this we had to bide on the roadside, just where we could be seen. Now, that was the only time my father taught us to be secret, and had he known how it made me into a liar after a fashion, he would have rued. Yet it is so, that I can never think of it but a tenderness kindles for him in my heart. Howbeit he went near, another way, to make me a liar right out, afore this bother was ended. One day Lizzie was missing again, and they came to our house to ask after her. Somebody had said he saw her and me go down the road together. Well, I had missed her sooner than any, and sought her as far as I dare ; so when my father turned round on me, and said, " Hev ye been down t' road, John ? " I answered him, " Ea, father." Then he wanted to know where I had left her, and I said I had not seen her.

" Go into f back roum," he said ; and I knew what that meant. I went with my heart in my mouth. But I was mistaen about what he aimed to punish me for ; for when he came in, with a glooming face and the strap in his hand, he let me see that he did not believe me. Like enough I had spoken timidly. He sat down and drew me to him. "John," he said, " ye've telled a lie. Aw willn't see ony lad o' mine grow up to be a liar, if aw can hinder 't." I looked at him and wondered. " Aw want thee and me to be on t' same side at Judgment Day, my lad. Aw care not to go to Heaven if thou be left i' outer darkness, John. If it be wrang to say so, God forgi'e me ! " I wanted to speak, but he held up his hand. I can just see his strong face now, white-looking, and the water in his eyes. " Come, my lad," he said, after a bit, " put away deceit.

There's nowght to be shamed on i' contradictin' a lie." As soon as I began to show him how it was, he strake at me, and I thought he would never stop. " Now witta tell ? " he kept saying ; " Aw'll mak tha tell." But a sort of numbness came over me, and I shut my mouth till he had done. He left off on a sudden at last and turned away, and I heard him sob. " Father," I said then, " I knawn't what ye're lacing me for." At that he strade out of the room and locked the door, but in a while he spake through to me : " John ! dost hear me? . . . When tha knocks, aw s' knaw tha'rt ready to say wheer tha left Lizzie." " I worn't wi' her, father," said I ; and he cried, " Oh ! " and flang out of the house like a man dis tracted. That put me to the rack ; for I was fearfully troubled to think he should judge so ill of me, and I knew that nought would alter his opinion.

It seems a foolish thing to tell of, but when I looked out of the window, and saw the black crags up on the moor rig, I cried at nought but sight of them. But that passed quickly ; and what I mainly recollect is standing just where he had left me, hearkening at a strange small humming there seemed to be in that empty room. It made me flaed of being alone. I have heard it since when over full with trouble, my ears singing ; but that time I was partly fain when my father came back — I should think an hour at after. He knew that I had never knocked, for my mother sat in the living-room. Still, he talked to me pratly (quietly) again, and then, instead of lashing me, he made me kneel down with him while he prayed. He spake so that I fairly did cry ; and it came upon me to do as he wanted. But when he rase up, some way, it was like as I could not open my mouth.

He looked at me awhile, his face darkening. At last he said, " Doff thi coit off ; " I did so. " Go on," he said ; and I took my waistcoat off. " Now thi shirt." So I was stripped naked to the waist ; then he took up the strap and laid hold on my shackle (wrist). I said, " Father, if ye kill me I can say no other. Ye'll find it out at after." Just as he lifted the strap we heard Lizzie's mother shout into the house : " Shoo 's been asleep i' t' hay loft all t' time." And afore I could say ought he nipped me up in his arms. " Praise God ! " he shouted, two or three times, and burst out a-roaring over me. So when I had donned my clothes I went out and put my arm around her neck.

Chapter II. Weasel

HOUGH I will not do so, it appears as if I could take more pleasure in telling all such young doings, without meaning, or care, or any piecing-up, nor in jumping out into the quick and strong flood of happenings that came after. It is a simple riddle, why childer are the happiest. Things fall out as they light, to a child, and it is all one. A man must strive with them ; and if they be over strong for him, as they can for any man, it will be counted against him. Still it is a right man's pride to fight, whether he win or lose, or make a drawn battle on't. Now from ten years old till I was bearded I lived with my uncle Zephaniah, at Burnley, in Lancashire, for we were over many at home, and he had none ; and of that time I need to say little. It has nought to do with my tale. I learned to weave then.

I found out that Cragside had about its share of the hard times, or happen a bit to boot ; and after seeing all C manner of mischief done by men that were hard driven, and as you may say, " leet gien " (thoughtless), I gat to see that Cragside folk were a gradely, law abiding sort, all but some few that had a spark of wildness — and some that liked ale fearful well. Yet, if I had not been sent away to Burnley, this had never been written. At home there had no occasion been to think of pen and ink, and my bit of schooling had dried off like one morning's dew ; but, as it was, I had to frame now and then to put a letter in trim for my mother, when I sent her ought ; and after a time, three of us that were mates made it up to go to a night school, a thing that was new to me. I was sent for home when my father died ; and this trouble fell in a strange and sudden way, that I have never heard the true marrow of ; he was a strong man one day and a dead one the next.

I could make little of it when I gat the letter, and it was like as if, being so much amazed by it, I did not right feel it in myself, but only kept saying every minute, "What will my mother do?" It utterly passed my wit to fancy how she could suffer that — such a thunderclap, and nought to be done that could mend it. For I had her in my mind as clear as when I parted from her, gentle and serious-looking, a bit timid with my father, as we all were, but fearful proud of him, and with WEASEL. 19 a right full merry laugh sometimes, that I think of when I hear a throstle sing ; and I pondered over her till I sweated with dread and perplexity. Nor I can not tell a step of the road home, what fashion of day it was, or whether I walked or ran, or whether I came over moor or meadow-land ; nought but just the seeing of her again when I landed.

The blinds were up, and when I saw it my heart turned over with a sudden hope. But as soon as I pushed the door open I was cast down ; for a shrunken little body, gray-haired and stiff, was bend ing to fettle the fire, and I knew not who she could be, but fancied I had missed the house. She looked round, and it was my mother ! Ten years had that much altered her. Natheless her sweet and peaceful face was hardly different, and it never did change, in my eyes, during all the years that followed. It was a queer meeting. She looked at me strange like as I went up to her, and then, in a sudden fluster, " John ! " she said ; " Nay, my lad ! I didn't knaw tha" — and turned away as she spake, covering her face for a fit of sobbing. So I put my arm about her shoulders, and made her sit down ; and stood gaumless by her, not able to say a word to comfort her, but my heart louping.