The story of a ploughboy

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Chapter I

I N boyhood I passed through the Valley of the Shadow, though above me shone a star. Let me speak of the darkness first.

When I had served six months at Abbot's Mailing, Big Pate came at Martinmas as first ploughman. The moment I looked at him, my instinct read hate in his eyes. Ere twelve hours were over, I found it had given no idle warning. My morning duty was to drive the milk-cart into Craigkenneth, and I had to rise at five o'clock, half an hour earlier than the men. Florrie, who helped the mistress with the milking, wakened me by knocking on the bothy door. I slept with Big Pate, and on the morning after his arrival I had touched him when getting out of bed or he had been disturbed by Florrie's knock. He muttered some curses which I did not much heed. At midday, when I came over to the bothy after having my dinner in the farm-kitchen, the men had finished their meal and thrown themselves on their beds. My entrance made Pate raise himself on his elbow.

" Ay, I've something to redd up wi' you," he began in deep growling tones. " Shut that door and come here."

When I obeyed, he looked at me in silence for a while, his black eyes glaring beneath his bushy brows. I trembled already, and he went on,

“ What the devil made ye wauken me this morning ? " and on my faltering out that I had not wakened him, " D’ye ca’ me a liar ? " he demanded loudly. " Fetch that auld helter," and he pointed to a rope that hung among the harness on the wall. Fear to obey, fear to refuse, were evenly matched ; I stood still, looking at him. " Oh, ye’ll no," he proceeded

B calmly. Fll sune learn ye to dae what ye’re budden,” and he rolled himself out of bed, took down and uncoiled the rope. Without warning he brought it across my thighs.

I gave a jump and a yell, and on his repeating the stroke I cried out,

“ I’ll tell the master.”

” Oh, ye will ? So ye’re a clype, ye shilpet beggar. Turn roon’ ; ” and he raised his hand again.

Bob had risen in his bed and was looking on.

” I say, Pate, that’s enough,” he began in expostulation ; but I felt at once from his voice that there was no hope from him.

Pate’s answer was a scowl and a contemptuous wave of his left hand. With the halter in the right he lashed me again and again. I howled madly and he flogged on, cursing me the while.

'‘Ye want to bring them frae the hoose wi’ yer yowlin’ ; I’ll learn ye a quaeter tune afore I’m dune. Will ye shut yer blasted mooth ? Will ye ? Will ye ? ” and when the strokes, falling as fast as he could draw them, had made me check my cries, he proceeded, ” Will ye fetch the halter noo ? Will ye ? Will ye ? ” and to get respite from the lashes that accompanied the questions I yelled, ” Ay, ay.”

” Fetch it, then ; ” and he flung it over the peg.

I took it down and gave it into his outstretched hand.

” Turn aboot,” he ordered, and I was so utterly cowed that I obeyed at once. He laid on at the back, at the sides, in Iront, I turning as he bade, and when he was nearly exhausted he demanded, with a stroke at each question,

” WiU ye ever wauken me again ? ”

” And will ye aye dae what ye’re budden ? ”

“ Ay, ay.”

” And will ye dae’t at ance ? ”

” Ay, ay.”

” It’ll be as weel for ye. If ye dinna, d’ye ken what I’ll dae to ye ? D'ye ken ? ” he repeated fiercely, when I did not

“I’ll tak’ ye this way,” and he brought his clenched hands together, “ and I’ll rive yer legs sindry.”

I was like sinking on the floor with terror, and after he had gazed at me for a while he pointed to the peg as a sign that I was to restore the halter to its place.

That afternoon we were spreading dung in the Cairn Park, which had been in oats and was to be ploughed for potatoes. Big Pate threw out the manure from the coups, Bob and I tedded. My legs and hips were so tender from the late thrashing that I could hardly bear my clothes touching them. I limped, in spite of all my efforts to walk steadily ; an onlooker would have taken me for a cripple. Pate eyed me from time to time and seemed to find a grim satisfaction in noting my frightened, tearful eyes, my constrained movements. No words of his were needed to keep me at my work : a glance was enough. Only once had he occasion to speak. When three persons are working as we were, one casting out the manure in large graipfuls which the others break up and spread, it is understood that each tedder keeps to his own side and so does just as much as his fellow. I was so stiff and sore that I began to lag, and Bob good-naturedly crossed to my side to help.

“ Dae yer ain bit and let him dae his,” Pate admonished him the second time this happened ; “if he's no fit for his wark, he shouldna be here.”

“ Please yersel',” was Bob’s reply, and for the rest of the afternoon I was left unaided.

It was not easy to keep up with Big Pate. He was working, as he usually worked, at top speed, and Bob and I had not only to follow him closely but had also to do our task to his satisfaction. Manure must be tedded till no lump is left, every part of the field must have its share, and the contents of the coups must be so evenly spread at the fringes that it should be impossible to tell where one coup ends and its neighbour begins. A look, a movement of Pate’s made me jump to repair a fault as though I had been worked with a spring.

We were sorting the horses in the evening. Besides attending to the milk-cart pony, which stood in a loose-box in the boiler-house, I had to help with an odd horse, old Roy, in the stable. The first man and I usually took a side apiece when combing and brushing him. We were not long started when Pate, wanting more room to work, put his shoulder to the beast’s flank, lifted him off his near legs and threw him over on me, so that I should have been crushed against the wall had I not ducked. Again and again that night, whenever he wanted the horse shifted, he heaved him over with his shoulder.

I was in terror, and could not attend to my work for watchng Pate's movements and trying to guard myself. Then he would lean over the horse and bring the brush across my head, cursing me for wasting time and keeping him from his supper.

After supper the same evening I went over to the bothy to wash my face. I meant to go up to the Home Farm and consult Dan Martin, my butty — strange that the poorest wretch has a chum — in youth ! — and as the working-day was near its shortest I should have an hour with him before returning to look the pony at eight o’clock. Big Pate, I felt, had his eye on me while I was cleaning myself, and ere I was done he asked with an oath where I was bound for.

“ The Hame Farm,” I faltered.

” I'll find ye something better to dae. D’ye see thae dishes ? Wash them up, then, or I’ll wash you in the horse-pond. And if ye break a thing, by God ! I’ll break yer back.”

Bob, who had been listening with interest, gave a laugh.

” Dam ’t if I ever thocht o’ that or I micht hae made him dae 't lang syne.”

Since I had come to Abbot’s Mailing, the two men in the bothy had done their own work, taking week about as cook and dish-washer. The task of cleaning-up was now to be left to me.

It was useless to think of visiting Dannie till the horses were looked. After eight o’clock I limped away to the Home Farm.

Dannie Martin was of my age and had been in farm service for the same time — six months. His parents, who lived in Fallowkirk, a town five miles east of us, were Irish, and it would be from them, I suppose, that he drew his quick wits and lively disposition. Both the grieve and the ploughman on the Home Farm were married men, and Dannie, though he got his meals in the grieve’s house, slept in a little cottage i that served as bothy for a forester, the estate-carter, and himself. All three were in, and after I had sat a little I ’made | signs to Dan that I wanted him to come outside. He stuck ! his cap on the back of his head, and as soon as we were on the I road, he lit up, for he liked to be seen smoking. I did the i same, though more for company’s sake ; then I hastened to , tell him of Big Pate’s cruelty. i

THE STORY OF A PLOtlGHBOY 5

“ There's no an inch o' me hut's marked frae the waist doon,” I concluded ; “ I’ll let ye see if ye like."

When I had turned down my socks and pulled up my drawers, Dannie kept striking matches to examine the sores.

" It’s just as if ye were burnin' me wi’ red-hot irons," I explained. " What wad ye advise me, Dannie ? "

" Hoy-oy-oy ! " yelled my chum.

It was his practice to give this yell before any lengthy utterance. This time he did not follow it up with words ; he stepped into the middle of the road and I could see him in the moonlight jumping about and sparring at an invisible antagonist. For a while he had been taking boxing lessons from Hendry, the forester, who had once been a policeman.

" That’s nae use," I said hopelessly, inferring his answer from the pantomime. " Man, my hert goes oot o’ me the moment he gies me a look. Dannie, I see naething for ’t but to rin awa’."

" Whaur tae ? " asked my butty in his ordinary tone, which was as loud and shrill as though he were calling to someone a field’s-breadth off.

" I was thinking, Patagonia.”

Dannie did not speak for a little.

" That’s whaur auld Sam’l Eadie has a son," he said at last, referring to a shepherd up the moorlands.

" The very same. It was that made me think o’t. Noo, here’s what I’ve been thinkin’ the day, Dannie. We micht watch for auld Sam’l gaun to the mart and ask him hoo young Sam’l got the job in Patagonia and if I wad hae ony chance."

Dan kept silence still longer than before.

" Hoy-oy-oy ! " he then began. " Ye're a bloomin' idiot, Jamie ; ye’re as blind as a moudie."

" What way ? "

" That's the very thing Pate wants — to drive ye awa’ frae the place."

" Hoo that ? " I asked in surprise.

" He’s feared auld Nick ’ll leave ye his siller ; and if ye rin awa’ he’ll be thinkin' to get the siller himsel’."

Now, I was aware that Big Pate and I counted kin. He was nephew, I grand-nephew, to old Nicol Gow, our present master. But that interest had anything to do with his ill-usage of me had never been in my thoughts ; I had imagined that his antipathy was instinctive.

** I canna believe that/' I said, when I had got over my surprise. “ Naebody wad think it worth their while.”

” You’ve nae een in yer heid,” said my friend ; ” but ither folk can see if you canna. Pate wants ye oot o’ that to mak* sure o’ the siller. And if I was you, I wad hing on just for spite, and if he meddled me I wad brain him wi’ a coulter.”

This again, I felt, was beyond my courage, and I implored Dannie to keep watch for the old shepherd. My friend was quite willing ; he even suggested that if there was no other way of seeing old Eadie, the two of us might stroll up the moorlands on the first free Sunday. This settled, Dannie turned the talk and in the same shrill but passionless tones — as indifferent, seemingly, as if he had been speaking with an utter stranger — he discussed the topic most interesting to the countryside. The Maud Ploughing-match, the great event of the kind in the shire, was set for the Saturday before Christmas. Big Pate, who had already taken a medal at the match and was therefore ploughed out, would be guiding one of the competitors. So I had heard in the bothy. Dannie was versed in the ploughmen’s records and had decided opinions as to the likely winners. He looked for a holiday on the occasion, and advised me to ask for one. But old Nicol, I knew, was not fond of granting holidays.

Ere I next saw Dannie, I had borne something worse than bodily torture and — to heighten the anguish — I durst not tell it to my friend.

Chapter II

O N the second day after Big Pate’s settlement at the Mailing I found the men just finishing a panful of ham when I came over after dinner.

“ That ham wad hae gaen doon a d sicht

better wi’ hauf a dizzen eggs,” Pate growled, rising from the bench and taking out his pipe.

” I believe ye,” said Bob ; ” but eggs is rather an expensive morsel the noo. Auld Phemie ’ll be sellin’ them at hauf a croon the dizzen.”

Pate gave a curse. ” Wha wants to buy them ? There’s plenty for the liftin’ aboot a toon like this. She used to keep aboot a hunder hens ; I suppose she'll hae as mony yet.”

Big Pate had already served at the Mailing and had left owing to the poor fare. After a year’s absence he had been induced to return, but had stipulated that he should feed himself as the second man was doing. It was easy to see why old Nicol had been anxious to get his nephew back : Big Pate was a good worker, one of the crack ploughmen of the county ; more than that, he was a capital slave-driver.

” That’ll no dae, Pate,” said the younger ploughman in answer to the suggestion ; “ it’s ower risky. Man, the eggs is watched like gold.” After a pause he asked, ” Did ye try on that game when ye was here afore ? ”

” Damn ye, what need had I ? I wasna on my brose.”

” I forgot, I forgot. Auld Phemie meated ye and she wad gie ye plenty o’ ham-strings ; ” and Bob laughed again, though his neighbour’s face gathered a threatening gloom. But Pate, rather to my surprise, controlled himself, and his manner was unusually civil as he said,

” At Westwater ” — the farm he had served on during the past year— “ I never bocht an egg. Jess Paul rubbit the nests and borrowed frae neebours as week I’ve seen me wi’ five dizzen in my kist at ae time. When Jess cam’ into the bothy she wad be stuffed like a pudden. I was aye feared to touch her till she was cleaned oot. Ye never tried Florrie on ? ” Florrie’s no that sort,” said Bob drily. “ It’s ower kittle a game, onyway,” he added in a brisker tone ; ” they punish it awfu’ heavy.”

” Ay, when it’s fun’ oot.”

*' It wad sune be fun’ oot the noo, for the hens ’ll no be layin’ weel at this time o’ year and the eggs wad sune be missed. Na, I wadna venture ’t ? ”

” But ye wad eat the eggs if they were there,” his neighbour growled.

” That’s anither story. But I see nae way o’ gettin’ them there;” and Bob lounged over to the bed, stretched himself out on it, and proceeded to light his pipe.

Pate remained standing before the fire.

” Come here,” he ordered in his deep voice, and I got down from the other bed on which I had been sitting and came forward shrinkingly.

” Whaur dae the hens maistly lay ? ”

” In the hen-hoose.”

Pate caught me a sounding blow on the head that sent me staggering against the bed-front. He cursed me for an idiot and demanded if I thought he was the same.

” Whaur else dae they lay ? ” he questioned, when he saw me in mortal fear.

” Twa three lay in the mill-ring, roon’ the top o’ the wa’s, and — and — and ane, a yellow ane, has been sittin’ in the bull’s lowse-box, in the heck, this week. I was gaun to tell the mistress aboot it.”

” Ay. Weel, ye needna fash.” He drew his watch from his fob. ” Awa’ into the lowse-box and coont the eggs. But dinna touch them the noo. D’ye hear ? ”

The hen had made a nest of hay in the very corner of the hack where the red bull could not pull out the fodder. There were five eggs, quite warm.

Noo,” said Pate, when I brought the report, ye’ll whip awa' fowr o’ thae eggs as sune’s ye’re dune wi’ yer supper the nicht, the minute ye’re dune. Will ye ? ”

Despite my terror of him I could not answer. There were awful penalties — what exactly they were I had not heard — for this offence. As I stood trembling. Big Pate advanced a step.

D’ye want me to tear ye joint frae joint ? ” and he held me by the shoulder. “ Will ye ? ”

I had to promise.

“ Mind this,” Pate cautioned me ; “if ony o’ them see ye — though they’re no likely to be aboot at the time — say the hen was layin’ awa’ and ye was takin’ the eggs to the mistress.”

The visit to the loose-box that night was a terrible experience. It was not the guilt that dismayed me : it was the danger. As I slipped the eggs through the spars and lodged them in the pockets of my sleeve-waistcoat, I felt that the red bull, sprawling on the litter with his unwieldy bulk, understood the deed and would tell. In the dark byre through which I stole, keeping my hands in my pockets to hold the eggs apart, every deep breath that a cow fetched, every rattle of the chain at her head, made my heart leap. The journey to the bothy, little over a score of yards, seemed miles.

The two men were waiting expectantly. Big Pate grabbed the eggs and set them under a bowl.

“Lash on the butter,” he called with an oath ; and Bob cut a wedge of fresh butter into the pan which he pushed on to the fire, chuckling the while.

Bob was a tall, loosely-built fellow of five-and-twenty, with sandy hair and bronzed face. He was a simple youth, with neither the head nor the hands of a skilful ploughman, though he worked well enough under proper direction.

“ God’s sake ! they’ll hear us,” he laughed, as Pate, taking the eggs one by one, split them into the pan and raised a great spluttering.

“ Awa’ ootby and hing aboot the door and gie a kick wi’ yer foot if onybody looks near,” Pate ordered me, while he rammed the eggs-shells under the pan.

Nobody stirred at the house except Florrie, who fetched some water from the pump in her zinc pail. The rattle^ of dishes went on inside the bothy, accompanied by laughing outbursts from Bob and an occasional complacent grunt from his neighbour.

“ Come in,” Pate ordered me after a while.

The men’s supper was over. On the table stood a bottle of essence of coffee, two empty bowls with treacle-like stains inside, two half-loaves well cut into, a cotton bag of sugar, a milk- jug, and two plates. On one of these a morsel of fried egg was lying.

*‘Ram that into ye/' said Pate ; and when I obeyed readily enough, for my supper had not been too heavy, he went on, “ Noo, you’re airt and pairt, and if ever ye cheep, we’ll sweer baith o’ us, that ye prigged the eggs for yersel’, for ye wasna content wi’ the meat in the hoose.” After giving time to let the threat sink into me, he proceeded, “ Noo, one hen canna keep us gaun’ though she laid every day. Ye’ll hae twa eggs to the piece o’ us ; d’ye hear ? ”

This was so manifestly impossible that I ventured to say,

Hoo can I — manage it ? ”

I'll learn ye to manage it ; I’ll easily learn ye that. Fetch that helter.”

I’ll dae ’t. I’ll dae ’t,” I cried out.

Fetch that helter,” he repeated sternly, and when he had loosened it he doubled me over his knee. ” This is hoo ye’ll manage it,” and he brought the rope over my thighs, still raw from yesterday’s flogging. Will ye manage it noo, d’ye think ? Will ye ? Will ye ? ” and to escape the unbearable torture I assented to everything. ” Mind this,” was Pate’s final warning ; ” it’s no enough to dae what ye’re budden ; ye’ve got to dae ’t withoot a word.”

On my return from Craigkenneth the next morning Pate demanded how many eggs I had got. He and Bob were at breakfast, being late of yoking on the dark mornings. Seeing my hesitation, he asked sternly,

” Ye dinna mean to say ye’ve got nane ? ”

” No yet,” I whimpered.

“ Then if the fowr eggs are no ready by supper-time I’ll tak’ a wrench and pu’ oot ane o’ yer front teeth for every egg that’s awantin’. The time for you to skin them is the early morning, when Florrie and the auld bitch are in the byre, or just the noo, after yer breakfast.” He had been speaking calmly though sternly ; now he roared like a lion, “ Will ye mind ? Will ye mind ? ” and on my promising obedience, Awa’ this minute, then, and see what ye can dae. And hide them some place whaur naebody ’ll come on them ; no in the bothy.”

I had to start on the search at once. The hen in the loose-box had laid again ; I took one egg, leaving one as before. Then I ventured a run into the hen-house and robbed a nest. By this it was yoking-time. I hid the booty on the inside wall of the boiler-house, reaching the place by climbing the

II side of the loose-box where the pony stood. At dinner-time I was again on the prowl and captured an egg in the milk-ring. One or two hens laid in the hay and straw of the barn ; I got the fourth egg there.

Even a youngster like myself could see that this would not last. If so many eggs had to be pilfered at a season when few hens were laying, there must be system in the theft. I roamed about the steading whenever I had a spare minute and marked the spots that the hens frequented. One was the loft above the smaller barn, another was the caff-neuk, opening off the same barn. Indeed, this was a favourite place ; whenever the door happened to be left open the hens were in and busy among the chaff. I made nests in all the likely corners about the farm, putting a stolen egg in each nest for a start, and ere long I had five hens laying in spots unknown to the mistress. From these I could count on two eggs a day ; the other two I had to find anyhow.

Had the mistress any suspicion ? Old Phemie, who kept house for her bachelor brother, was not easy to read. She was a pleasant-looking woman, for, though her face was wrinkled and her shoulders were bent with incessant work, her cheeks were fresh, her dark eyes full and bright, her nose and mouth well-shaped, and when she talked with outsiders she wore a constant smile. Her words were as smooth, her manner as soft as butter ; yet her heart was stone. She had no love except for gain, and though I was a mere child and kin to herself, she would have coined my heart 's-blood. It seemed to me, as the plundering went on, that she was puzzled and was watching the poultry with more than common care. Once, even, I heard her speak her doubts, and while my guilty conscience made me tremble I listened closely, knowing that if fully warned I should run the less risk. It was early one morning when old Phemie and the maid were in the byre. The milk-cart was yoked and I was ready to start for Craigkenneth. Florrie, however, was hardly finished and I wandered about the byre till she was ready. The mistress stood near her, looking thoughtful.

“ ril no can mak’ oot the six dizzen the morn,'’ she observed, referring to the eggs which I took in to the Craigkenneth dairy, “ unless the hens lay better than they’ve been daein’.”

Florrie did not answer at once. The black-and-white Ayrshire she was milking had been fractious in spite of Florrie’s

THE STORY OF A PLOUGHfeOY threats and coaxing, and, just as the mistress spoke, the beast kicked the can and nearly upset it. Florrie drew a long inward breath and her face hardened. She set the can in the gangway and returned to the cow.

“ That’s yer trick, ye bitch ; ” and with her neat, strong little shoes she drew the cow a kick in the belly. You would keep folk at yer ether a’ day and scale the can to the bargain ! My leddy. I’ll learn ye whether you or me ’s mistress,” and in spite of old Phemie’s remonstrances, ” Ye’ll kill the beast,” ” She’s quite tractable for ordinar’,” ” She’s as quaet a beast as is in the byre,” Florrie kicked again and again with her full strength till Pyet trembled, as I did under Big Pate’s halter. It was only when Florrie had resumed her stool, fixed the can between her knees and stuck her forehead into the cow’s quivering flank that she answered the mistress’s remark about the hens.

” Ye’ve ower mony summer layers and ower few winter anes. If ye had mair Buff Orpingtons and Plymouth Rocks ye wad be gettin’ eggs the noo when prices are guid.”

” I’m no gettin’ an egg frae yer Orpingtons and yer Plymouth Rocks,” the old woman retorted with unusual asperity.

” Hoo d’ye ken ? ”

” Because it’s a’ white eggs I’m gettin’, no a broon egg among them.”

” I canna understand that,” said Florrie, ” for I was noticing some o’ thae Orpingtons yesterday ; their comb was fair scarlet.”

” I noticed that tae, but they're no layin’ a’ the same.” Florrie did not answer, and after a short silence the mistress ended the dialogue by saying in a reflective tone, ” I think I’ll change their feedin’ for a while. I’ll stop the India corn a’thegither and try them wi’ a pickle rice. I’ve seen rice dae wonders.”

And sure enough brown eggs were soon forthcoming. But this was because I was giving their layers a respite and was seeking my booty elsewhere.

But how was it to end ? How was it all to end ? The thought haunted me in my lonely seasons, as I drove Prince into Craigkenneth and home in the cold dark mornings, as I mucked the byre on my return, as I lay at night between Big Pate and the wall, dog-tired with the long hours and the hard work, yet unable to sleep for the weals that burned my flesh.

How could I escape his cruelty ? Was an}^ escape possible ? Some day I should die under his kicks and blows and floggings, or, worse, I should get my limbs or my back broken and be a cripple or a hunchback for life. No use complaining to the master or the mistress ; they did not care though I were beaten to death before their eyes ; their one concern was to get their work done. Bob could not help me even if he had wanted ; he was frightened of his giant neighbour. From Florrie, who had been rather good to me during my first half-year, I soon ceased to expect help or even sympathy. She was understood to be Bob's sweetheart, yet I discovered she was carr 3 dng on with Big Pate as well. Complain to the police ? Farm-hands, I knew, never bothered with the police : everyone had to protect himself. Besides, since I had become a thief I was afraid of the police. What could I do ? Could I do anything ?