Ulverton (15 page)

I’d bin wi’n for past twenty year by ’75, when this went on as I be tellin. An all that time Abraham had never not a snick o’ praise for owt I done. Not even for them two scrolls, as I cut for Squire. No. He were mortal near wi’ his admiration. He were allus larnin I, right to the last day. That be as how he seed it, by my reckonin. Aye. An I knowed as how I weren’t no lean o’ the trade, but no fat jobber neither, but summat betwixt the two – on account, as I sees it, of my hands, bein as they are summat dubby, though I allus had the strength, see, in my arms. I could snap a lop a-two the width o’ thy thigh, make no mistake. But I never had the touch that he had. An he knowed that, see, to be sure.

Aye.

I will an all.

Thank ’ee.

My old woman, she was onto me, see. As how I never spoke my
mind.
I was allus behind the master. I felt tart about it some time, his bally-raggin, aye. But I never spoke my mind. Never.

He got my bristles up once or twice, I can tell thee, surely. Aye. That he did.

Heh.

Dead an gone now, all on ’em. Dern it, I never spoke my mind to him. Aye. Now I’ve had a drop o’ two, I don’t mind tellin. This en’t a grizzle, though. This en’t a grizzle. You be a genneman, listenin so long. I be planin through to the heart, make no mistake. Pure oak, this tale. It be a ripper. Don’t you go now. Don’t you go. You be a-lush as you fancy, you don’t have far to rise, up them stairs. Stay wi’ me an drain that cask to the grouts, an you won’t hear no codger’s grizzle out o’ me. No. I tells you, there be one or two wenches here as I know ud fancy talkin to a genneman like you, sir. They be a-rampin for a genneman the likes o’ you, make no mistake. Fine good clean country wenches, aye. An young an lissom, as ud fancy wrestlin wi’ the likes o’ you, sir. I knows all about them as be rampin ater decent strangers like you, sir. Hear me out an I’ll tell ’em as you be game, sir, to have thy room warmed by a simple wench. Aye.

Make no mistake. You don’t want to touch them as be in here. No. They be dampen straw in here. These’d not douse a candle.

Aye.

Heh heh.

See she, like a drownded rat, agin the cask? She ud do it wi’ a pig if he paid her. In an out more times nor a nag shot out o’ the shafts. Bin whipped at the cart’s tail, that un, for thievin wine. Years ago, now. Didn’t make her aright, though. Be thievin men from their wives, now. The worsest kind o’ men, mind. The worsest kind. Aye. She be lookin our way now. Cotched her one while past, out in the orchut, up to her anticks. Thought it were two lads a picky-back, till I saw it straight. Years ago now. Aye.

I’ll bet them ladies as rides up to the Hall, from Lunnen an abouts, I’ll bet their limbs be white an smooth as chestnut. Aye. I’ll bet.

Aye.

This gettin to be a rigmarole afore I’ve finished. Abraham allus said I lacked summat. It were allus my thoughts doin the meddlin. I never had his dedication, not to the work in hand. I were allus stuck for that. Mind, I could strip them oaks out their bark quicker nor he, at strippin-time. They’d mount up in the tan-yard thick as the ale-house on pay-night, certain sure. I were out an out the best o’ the boys at strippin.

Aye. That I were, certain sure.

He couldn’t deny me that.

I don’t recall as who first thought on it. Belike it weren’t I, but Ketchaside. Out on that down, past Ewe Drop. It were a slappin piece o’ mischuf, whoever thought on it. The other boy, name o’ Sheppard, he were a mite slippy about it, an wanted nowt to do on it, but when we telled him it were to stop our work bein so tardy, like, he come round to us soon enough, up there on that down. It were deep, that piece o’ mischuf. Heh heh.

Poor old Sheppard, the lad thought as how he’d end up at the cart’s tail, or worse, transportashin, for goin agin Abraham. It were awmost worth transportashin, the way I seed, it. It were deep, an all. Aye.

Heh heh.

Lay the dust in that throat an listen to this. There be a tree, a gurt fine oak, haafway atween Stiff’s place an here. It be right agin the road, an all splashed white in the wet, an good’n thick in the leaf, so as thee can hide up there an narn don’t ever sees thee. You can be a right King Charlie up there in that oak. Belike it were the same one as he used. I dunno. Anyways, early next mornin, bein back on the job, like, we comes to the tree, on the way to Stiff’s, an shins up it, an sits in all them branches, hearts a pit-a-pat, an we watches the old sun do his bit, an we giggles, an gets sittin easy, like, on them gurt branches, an minds what we’ve to do, that we’ve gone over yeserday, an sits tight, waitin.

For Abraham, see.

Now I weren’t a lad, but I feeled like one up there in that oak. I used to get pleasure from climbin trees as a lad, if you gets my meanin. I were allus shinnin up an down, as a nipper, an wonderin why I were gettin damp in the britches, like, an it so pleasin. An this, I’ll be honest, were the same kind o’ pleasure, this piece o’ mischuf. I were in great spout, up there in that oak, waitin for Abraham Webb.

For I had the deepest voice, like. It were I as had the job in hand. My heart was a pit-a-pat, I can tell thee, waitin.

Aye. I be dry, thinkin on it. Fill her up.

You’ll recall what it be like, up a tree. Thee be king, up there. Thee be master. All spread pokey aneath ’ee, an thee gurt proud, an tall, up there in them branches. Like the old tree be spreadin through thee, growin up through thee, king o’ the world, master o’ the fields, up there in that tree. Aye. Thee be God, up there.

God.

Aye.

For thee be the one a-rustlin now, with thy gurt proud limbs o’ pure oak!

Aye.

A-comin to it. I’ll find thee a wench, don’t fret. Plenty o’ time for that. A clean squishy wench. Give me a spell more an I’ll seek one out wi’out a splotch on her. Let I finish.

Gin-trap, see. That be what it were. Gin-trap for master. To be struck by he. Narn else.

So he comes, don’t he? – bang on church strikin six he comes over the brow, on his way to Stiff’s, checkin up on us. An I cups my hands about my mouth all ready, see, like this, big dubby hands about my mouth, an I sits bolt up, an the other two anigh me sits stock as a hare, an stops their breathin they be so still, an lo behold Abraham’s step be comin nearer an nearer, his boots a-clippin them flints like old Bowsher in his forge, see, an my heart be hammerin louder an louder, an all three on us creamy-faced an
a-muck
with fear, but stock still up that gurt tree like three dead men, only our hearts a-goin, an lo behold Abraham be under us wi’ the top of his head an I hears the whistlin through his nose an smells his sweetness an through them leaves I sees him an I sings out, like, I don’t blare I sings out, like:

‘A-bra-ham …!’

Jus like that, see. Heh.

‘A-bra-ham …!’

Heh.

And he stops bang in his tracks, an he looks up, an I thinks I be for a whippin or worse, I feels so a-feared, but astead o’ that I hears him say,

‘Yea, my Lord?’

Wi’ such a gingerly look on his face I well nigh bust out laughin. For I knew I had done him, then.

It were like the squawk of a hare when the trap strikes. It were tip-top.

Aye.

An then I says, all sing-song like, but mortal strong an more bellockin it out this time:

‘If thee keepest thy lads at work till eleven,

Thee shalt not enter the kingdom of Heaven!’

An then the two old boys, they gives out a great sigh, like as if God were closin off into the clouds, out of the mortal world full of sin, into His Kingdom, leavin old Abraham starin upperds, up at the sky, as though he have a-had a big crack a-top o’ the head.

An he says, all quiet, but wi’ a mouth big as a saw-pit:

‘Dang un.’

Then he comes to it, like, as though he be on a sudden doushed in cold water, an gets down on his knees, an claps his two hands into one, an makes a gugglin noise out o’ his throat, an coughs, an starin upperds he says:

‘Lord, dost thou forgive me?’

Aye. An we were quiet as the grave. I tells thee. Sir.

An when he gets up an walks all gawky, like, off, as we thought it, to Stiff’s, lookin up now an agin, a mite a-feared, it seemed, o’ them old clouds o’ early mornin openin wi’ a big voice agin, we shins down an runs like the Devil be ater our souls the crow-way across the down to Mapleash Farm – for the road way do a dog-leg, don’t it? – an old Abraham, well, we be hid from him by that hedge as were jus about tall enough by then, though it be a mite thicker now, an by the brush as were north o’ the road them days.

So we gets a-pantin to Stiff’s afore he do, an gets to on the browsins in the cow-stalls, as we were hammerin up afresh, an tryin to clap our mouths up, we were that gleeful, but there be no Abraham that mornin. An we gets over to the Manor an lays the last three steps, an fixes the ballusters, for the Squire’s ascension, like, but no Abraham. An we be a mite worrited now, an when it be time we gets over to the shop, a snick glum-faced, for we be reckonin as how Abraham might’ve spied us, an be workin his revenge, when eight strikes on the church, an in walks he. An he looks at all on us, an we looks at him as innocent as milk, like, an he says, like the words were skrunged together, an he were puilin ’em a-two wi’ his lips:

‘Put thy work away, lads. Put thy work away.’

An that be all he says. But spot on eight each day, till the day he kecked his last a-bed, he’d say the same.

‘Put thy work away, lads. Put thy work away.’

Like he was a-feared we mightn’t, see.

Aye.

A-feared we mightn’t.

Heh heh.

That Abraham.

I DON’T KNOW
who they were against the ricks. The lanthorn was doused by one of them. There was a great press of the men in the yard and one holloed ‘Never mind Harry let us set the blaze off.’ Then one I don’t know with a brown smock on set his tinderbox to the straw beneath the iron Plough and it were set alight. Then I went with the mob into the Barn & in the middle was the drum of the machine and there were four men including Alfred Dimmick & John Oadam who were breaking the said machine. I don’t know the other two men. As they were beating the machine Alfred Dimmick said to Tom Knapp who was standing a few yards from him ‘This is a hard job Tom’ – and Knapp answered ‘Never mind Ally if you are tired I am willing to take your place.’ They were smashing the machine with sticks and an axe. Then I saw Farmer Stiff with a lanthorn. He threw a smart little lot of shillings to John Oadam as he came out of the Barn into the yard, very nearly two hundred. I heard Farmer Stiff say as he would mark that d—d ploughman another day (meaning the Prisoner John Oadam). Then we left the Yard by the big gate. I saw about a hundred persons by the light of the burning Plough.

Then we went to the Malt Shovel at the crossroads on the brow and had a pot of beer apiece. The men demanded of the landlord some bread & Cheese. The landlord set candles on the tables as it was not yet light but the men took the candles with them as they left. Some men staid the main of the day there but most of the mob departed at about six o’clock to press more persons. They pressed the occupants of the dwellings on the turnpike into Ulverton. Two carters came up: these carters are James Malt and Harold Tagg. They were willing to come with them on their donkeys. Some of the Mob talked with those in Withy Field & Ley Dean: the said men left their Ploughs in the stitch and joined us: about twenty in all. They carried one stick apiece that were cut from the
hedgerows
and two had mattocks. One of them was William Bray. He said to me ‘Hannah what beest thee doing here?’ I replied that I wd not stand aside. We came back into Ulverton to break open the blacksmiths but he (Richard Bowsher) opened it for us: we took the hammers and a sledge-hammer and crow-bars. The horn was blown before the Church and again by the main well. It was not yet light & I was unable to see many Faces I knew: I did not know whether they were willing or unwilling.

Then they went to Barrs Farm and I heard Giles Griffin demand 40s in silver from Farmer Barr for each machine broke. I heard John Oadam say to Farmer Barr that they would be having half a crown after Ladyday or the wind would get the bettermost. This was by the Ricks in the Court. It appeared to me that he meant by this as farmers would have more than their machines broke if no satisfaction in wages was to come. They were about two hundred by then. I should think they staid about twenty minutes in Barrs Farm & were given more bread. Farmer Barr brought out a lanthorn and I saw by that light Edward Pyke and James Malt and Solomon Webb who were against the Door of the Barn. They entered with Farmer Barr and he said he would be glad if they Broke his machines, for they threwed men upon the Parish. They beat and smashed his threshing Machine and chaff-Cutting machine and they drew out his iron Plough and took all of the other pieces out into the Court in a pile. I don’t know who the others were as broke the machines. I did not see the £4 given.

The mob left the Court yard and walked across the fields to the Estate (of Ulverton House.) They tore up the Fences in the fields named Marridge Butt & Whitesheet Haw, & also in Little Hangy to the crab-apple. I heard many men holloeing that they would have their land back or there would be Blood spilt. Some men carried the fence poles as weapons. Because there was only one lanthorn I do not know who destroyed the fences & I did not recognise any Shout. The lanthorn was bandied about from one to another down the line. The horn was blown several times and the Mob advanced across the meadows as belong to Ulverton Hall (meaning Ulverton House) & they broke down the Hedgerows in several places. I believe John Oadam and Giles Griffin were the leaders. Joseph Scalehorn who is a cripple was carried by two men. This was about seven o’clock. It was first light then. They
crossed
the river by Bottom Bridge and came up Chalky Lane to Plum Farm (meaning Ulverton House Farm).

When they came to the yard of the said Farm there was Lord Chalmers MP on a horse. The Riot Act was read out from a paper by the said Lord Chalmers. He maintained to the mob that there would be £500 for any man informing against 10 other men. They did not heed him. John Oadam called out that they would be having 2s a day for they wd not starve no more. He went to Lord Chalmers but I did not hear what was said between them. The barn was entered and a threshing machine broke and a Winnowing machine. There were six horses on the said threshing machine and they were unstrapped. I saw them running out of the barn but I did not see the machines smashed. I should think it took thirty minutes to break the machines.

The Mob then proceeded to the Hall (meaning Ulverton House) where there was said to be a great machine also. Myself and the Mob crossed the river again at Bottom Bridge and advanced towards the House through the Park. There was a woman in a black bonnet with a rake. She ran away holloeing and the Yeomanry appeared from behind the Temple: they rode down to meet us at the Lake there. They stopped before they reached us, and pointed their muskets at us. About fifty yards away. The mob called out bread or blood but there were no sticks thrown. Smoke came from a gun. There was a loud noise. I believe from the gun. Saw James Malt falling with a great wound in his face: I believe from a musket-ball. The Mob struck the Yeomanry with Sticks and hammers & crow-bars stones hay-forks and so on.

I was struck by a horse and fell to the ground. I should think they were fighting for thirty minutes. There were many wounds and the Blood was spilling on the ground: I saw John Oadam strike a Yeoman with a hay-fork. Another Yeoman struck the said John Oadam on the shoulder with the butt of his musket. I believe it was Edward Pyke who knocked the said Yeoman down to the ground with a dibble. A horse ran the said Edward Pyke into the Lake. I heard him shout that these d—d villains would boil in their blood for this. Men from both sides fell into the Lake: they were beating the swans away from their persons. Alfred Dimmick was wearing a white hat: he had a sign on a pole, he told me before it read No Machines. The sign was torn away & he took a blow on his crown. Joseph Scalehorn was carried from the fighting but the
yeomen
went after them. Some men were running to the House across the Lawn. Tom Ketchaside who is eighty was knocked to the ground & also William Bray.

Lancelot Heddin (Examinant’s twin brother) who is a cripple came up to take me away from the Fight. He had no weapon. My dress was torn and I had received a wound on the arm. A yeoman caught my brother by his neck and my brother fell & pulled the Yeoman from his horse. My brother rose & was knocked down by a horse and it appeared to me as he (meaning the Examinant’s brother) was Lifeless. Then I ran to fetch assistance, but was apprehended in the Wilderness

you imagine, my dear Emily, the tediousness of this Sessions when in the forefront of my thoughts runs the said matter relating to your health & our Fortune. I have staid in a room without air for three days – ’tis in the Squire’s aged house, insufferably near the Church. The stench of the labourers vies with the stench of the smoke – we have an ill-built chimney-piece – while I persevere in the translation of but thick grunts into some semblance of Rational discourse. I scribble this between whiles. O for the sweet melody of your name! Quam vellem me nescire literas, as those I face each day, when that gift shuts one up in such a fug as this, far from your person, my dearest. (How fitting a classical reflection, when one learns it came from Nero – in his compassionate youth – about to set his pen upon a writ for the execution of some Malefactor!)

Edward Hobbs, saith that on Monday the 22nd of November instant about two hundred persons were unlawfully and riotously assembled together at Ulverton House in the said county and Examinant saw the Prisoner John Oadam strike Robert Jefferies who was then and there aiding and assisting in suppressing the said Riot. The Prisoner hit the said Robert Jefferies with a hay-fork. I struck him on the back with my musket and he fell to the ground and I then heard him say he would have that d—d Bailiff’s blood for posset on the morrow (meaning this Examinant)

I have never insisted anything of the sort. Far be it for me to be adjudged wanting in this matter, for I have ever been solicitous (if you will pardon the play) after your well-being – even before I declared these feelings for you. Indeed, were it not for my appeals to your father, you would not have been released earlier, and so avoided further complexities – as you no doubt have by going North, as it were – to the favour of your uncle and his codicil, however reluctant the climate to shine upon your fair visage, my dearest Emily

Edmund Bunce had a brown Smock.

whereas, if you had but hearkened to my appeals – you were released post-chaise long ago: but be that as it will

Oadam had a crown of bedwine upon his head: of old man’s beard. I heard him say that he would be King before tomorrow – this was in jest. Other men had yarrow flowers on their Caps and in their Coats, and I held a flag out of a rag. Most of the Mob departed after thirty minutes but we staid at the Malt Shovel for the remainder of the day. We blew a horn and sang some songs to keep our spirits high. We went to bed early but a Press Gang came round at four o’clock in the night & made us go with them to Bursop & Little Bursop, where we broke up three Machines:

if nothing else, we shall be content at least, with this matrimonial arrangement, that can only be of advantage to all concerned – if one absents from that inclusive gathering your dear father – who cannot be content with a place, as it were, in Heaven. O the Sessions winds on, or down, as my timepiece – regular but slow. We must sweep the floorboards twice a day, as those discharged on their own recognizance to appear in person come
for
their Examination, it seems, straight from the Field, & those from Prison reek of a cow-byre – which should not surprise, since a cow-byre is indeed their Prison (albeit emptied of the lower beasts) – however, the subsequent foul dunginess means I must hold my handkerchief to my nose nevertheless, or feel giddy. There is no other recourse: the town Gaol being full to its gills, our Lord Chalmers (does your father know him?) has donated his secure cow-house of brick for their incarceration, this being, no doubt, an improvement upon the town lodgings – but meaning I am hardly in the town, where there is a decent theatre on the main road, tho’ one’s attention is much disturbed by the coaches outside and their infernal clatter, and there are too many pigs in the road, that one must wade through them, if one chooses the wrong morning. Alas, it is always the wrong morning – without your fair white face, my dearest love: I have never, in all my life, seen so many brown Ploughmen as I have seen thro’ these last few days – and waggoners, and shepherds, & reapers, and paupers, and Jobbers of every fowl & four-legged beast one might imagine, and Well-diggers, & mealy Mealmen and ruby-cheeked Farmers: it has quite enervated my desire to flee the city’s smoke. We are set up in a room of the Manor in the settlement (for so I grace it) named Ulverton – or Ulvers – or Ulverdon – makes no difference – the most dismal place one can imagine – the seat of the Riots in this part of the county – with ditch-mud in the place of road and not a head of thatch without its sprout of moss & weeds. The main Square hardly merits justification of its nomination: but is more a Circle of despondency about a dripping well, whose handle creaks the rope up so loud it forces me to ask for repetition from the Examinants at least ten times of a morning (I exaggerate for effect, for the Manor is some hundred yards along the road, but the church bells shake us each quarter – I feel quite at home as in Bow.) If only you, my dear Emily, had witnessed these Troubles, that you could sit before me and Deposition in the sweetest of tones, while your Examiner gazed upon you from his high table and cross-questioned (but not wiggingly) on the issue of Love – for which there is no Defence. I also have my manly cough returned, tho’ the flush

He then saw against the Door twelve or so men by that light. They demanded of him six shillings, or they said they would have him by the scruff and wd threw him into the horse-pond, the bloody bugger, for they had empty bellies enough and so did their Children, & they had not a faggot between them to keep the winter off & to dry their cloathes. He then gave them a purse with the said amount. The Mob soon dispersed, after boasting to his presence that they had broke as many machines

determined on one matter: that we should establish our matrimonial footing on as firm a step as this country will hold – viz., not in London where the powder of ambitious lawyers chokes me in every thoroughfare, but in the calmer pond of some slumberous Country Town, where the bells ring with diffidence over the pompous, and the honest fellow can walk about without an eye ever turned for his rump. We will have a green patch and I shall return promptly for my lunch of kidneys, keeping time by the cathedral spire. If I can tie this up with as strong a ribbon as bundles these briefs for the Prosecution of said wretched Rioters – your father will have to find the sharpest of scissors likewise. If I am thwarted, and forced to breathe more of that pestilent air, I shall grow melancholy as those Greenlanders in Denmark – looking ever
north
, my dearest!

in Surley Row with my mother and my brother. I was awoken about five o’clock on Sunday the 21st of November last by a horn blowing. I did not get out of bed. I saw several persons at the house opposite and William Dart came to the window of our house and called to us that we must come out. He had on ribands as for the feast of Whitsun & said we must collect shillings & break the machines that do the men’s work. I put on my scarf & opened the Door. Old Becky Shail came out of her house with a basket of lardey for all, she said those d—d wretched gentlemen must catch it: she once had a husband hung & cut up in Reding. Giles Griffin said they shall by g—d. My brother was drawn out by the arm. We proceeded down Back Lane, pressing more
persons.
My brother tied his trousers in the Road for they gave us no time