|
Prev
| Next
| Contents
CHAPTER XXIX
REAPING LEADS TO REVELLING
Although I was under interdict for two months from my
darling--'one for your sake, one for mine,' she had
whispered, with her head withdrawn, yet not so very far
from me--lighter heart was not on Exmoor than I bore
for half the time, and even for three quarters. For
she was safe; I knew that daily by a mode of signals
well-contrived between us now, on the strength of our
experience. 'I have nothing now to fear, John,' she
had said to me, as we parted; 'it is true that I am
spied and watched, but Gwenny is too keen for them.
While I have my grandfather to prevent all violence;
and little Gwenny to keep watch on those who try to
watch me; and you, above all others, John, ready at a
moment, if the worst comes to the worst--this neglected
Lorna Doone was never in such case before. Therefore
do not squeeze my hand, John; I am safe without it, and
you do not know your strength.'
Ah, I knew my strength right well. Hill and valley
scarcely seemed to be step and landing for me; fiercest
cattle I would play with, making them go backward, and
afraid of hurting them, like John Fry with his terrier;
even rooted trees seemed to me but as sticks I could
smite down, except for my love of everything. The love
of all things was upon me, and a softness to them all,
and a sense of having something even such as they had.
Then the golden harvest came, waving on the broad
hill-side, and nestling in the quiet nooks scooped from
out the fringe of wood. A wealth of harvest such as
never gladdened all our country-side since my father
ceased to reap, and his sickle hung to rust. There
had not been a man on Exmoor fit to work that
reaping-hook since the time its owner fell, in the
prime of life and strength, before a sterner reaper.
But now I took it from the wall, where mother proudly
stored it, while she watched me, hardly knowing whether
she should smile or cry.
All the parish was assembled in our upper courtyard;
for we were to open the harvest that year, as had been
settled with Farmer Nicholas, and with Jasper Kebby,
who held the third or little farm. We started in
proper order, therefore, as our practice is: first, the
parson Josiah Bowden, wearing his gown and cassock,
with the parish Bible in his hand, and a sickle
strapped behind him. As he strode along well and
stoutly, being a man of substance, all our family came
next, I leading mother with one hand, in the other
bearing my father's hook, and with a loaf of our own
bread and a keg of cider upon my back. Behind us Annie
and Lizzie walked, wearing wreaths of corn-flowers, set
out very prettily, such as mother would have worn if
she had been a farmer's wife, instead of a farmer's
widow. Being as she was, she had no adornment, except
that her widow's hood was off, and her hair allowed to
flow, as if she had been a maiden; and very rich bright
hair it was, in spite of all her troubles.
After us, the maidens came, milkmaids and the rest of
them, with Betty Muxworthy at their head, scolding even
now, because they would not walk fitly. But they only
laughed at her; and she knew it was no good to scold,
with all the men behind them.
Then the Snowes came trooping forward; Farmer Nicholas
in the middle, walking as if he would rather walk to a
wheatfield of his own, yet content to follow lead,
because he knew himself the leader; and signing every
now and then to the people here and there, as if I were
nobody. But to see his three great daughters, strong
and handsome wenches, making upon either side, as if
somebody would run off with them--this was the very
thing that taught me how to value Lorna, and her pure
simplicity.
After the Snowes came Jasper Kebby, with his wife,
new-married; and a very honest pair they were, upon
only a hundred acres, and a right of common. After
these the men came hotly, without decent order, trying
to spy the girls in front, and make good jokes about
them, at which their wives laughed heartily, being
jealous when alone perhaps. And after these men and
their wives came all the children toddling, picking
flowers by the way, and chattering and asking
questions, as the children will. There must have been
threescore of us, take one with another, and the lane
was full of people. When we were come to the big
field-gate, where the first sickle was to be, Parson
Bowden heaved up the rail with the sleeves of his gown
done green with it; and he said that everybody might
hear him, though his breath was short, 'In the name of
the Lord, Amen!'
'Amen! So be it!' cried the clerk, who was far behind,
being only a shoemaker.
Then Parson Bowden read some verses from the parish
Bible, telling us to lift up our eyes, and look upon
the fields already white to harvest; and then he laid
the Bible down on the square head of the gate-post, and
despite his gown and cassock, three good swipes he cut
off corn, and laid them right end onwards. All this
time the rest were huddling outside the gate, and along
the lane, not daring to interfere with parson, but
whispering how well he did it.
When he had stowed the corn like that, mother entered,
leaning on me, and we both said, 'Thank the Lord for
all His mercies, and these the first-fruits of His
hand!' And then the clerk gave out a psalm verse by
verse, done very well; although he sneezed in the midst
of it, from a beard of wheat thrust up his nose by the
rival cobbler at Brendon. And when the psalm was sung,
so strongly that the foxgloves on the bank were
shaking, like a chime of bells, at it, Parson took a
stoop of cider, and we all fell to at reaping.
Of course I mean the men, not women; although I know
that up the country, women are allowed to reap; and
right well they reap it, keeping row for row with men,
comely, and in due order, yet, meseems, the men must
ill attend to their own reaping-hooks, in fear lest the
other cut themselves, being the weaker vessel. But in
our part, women do what seems their proper business,
following well behind the men, out of harm of the
swinging hook, and stooping with their breasts and arms
up they catch the swathes of corn, where the reapers
cast them, and tucking them together tightly with a
wisp laid under them, this they fetch around and twist,
with a knee to keep it close; and lo, there is a goodly
sheaf, ready to set up in stooks! After these the
children come, gathering each for his little self, if
the farmer be right-minded; until each hath a bundle
made as big as himself and longer, and tumbles now and
again with it, in the deeper part of the stubble.
We, the men, kept marching onwards down the flank of
the yellow wall, with knees bent wide, and left arm
bowed and right arm flashing steel. Each man in his
several place, keeping down the rig or chine, on the
right side of the reaper in front, and the left of the
man that followed him, each making farther sweep and
inroad into the golden breadth and depth, each casting
leftwards his rich clearance on his foregoer's double
track.
So like half a wedge of wildfowl, to and fro we swept
the field; and when to either hedge we came, sickles
wanted whetting, and throats required moistening, and
backs were in need of easing, and every man had much to
say, and women wanted praising. Then all returned to
the other end, with reaping-hooks beneath our arms, and
dogs left to mind jackets.
But now, will you believe me well, or will you only
laugh at me? For even in the world of wheat, when deep
among the varnished crispness of the jointed stalks,
and below the feathered yielding of the graceful heads,
even as I gripped the swathes and swept the sickle
round them, even as I flung them by to rest on brother
stubble, through the whirling yellow world, and
eagerness of reaping, came the vision of my love, as
with downcast eyes she wondered at my power of passion.
And then the sweet remembrance glowed brighter than the
sun through wheat, through my very depth of heart, of
how she raised those beaming eyes, and ripened in my
breast rich hope. Even now I could descry, like high
waves in the distance, the rounded heads and folded
shadows of the wood of Bagworthy. Perhaps she was
walking in the valley, and softly gazing up at them.
Oh, to be a bird just there! I could see a bright mist
hanging just above the Doone Glen. Perhaps it was
shedding its drizzle upon her. Oh, to be a drop of
rain! The very breeze which bowed the harvest to my
bosom gently, might have come direct from Lorna, with
her sweet voice laden. Ah, the flaws of air that
wander where they will around her, fan her bright
cheek, play with lashes, even revel in her hair and
reveal her beauties--man is but a breath, we know,
would I were such breath as that!
But confound it, while I ponder, with delicious dreams
suspended, with my right arm hanging frustrate and the
giant sickle drooped, with my left arm bowed for
clasping something more germane than wheat, and my eyes
not minding business, but intent on distant
woods--confound it, what are the men about, and why am
I left vapouring? They have taken advantage of me, the
rogues! They are gone to the hedge for the cider-jars;
they have had up the sledd of bread and meat, quite
softly over the stubble, and if I can believe my eyes
(so dazed with Lorna's image), they are sitting down to
an excellent dinner, before the church clock has gone
eleven!
'John Fry, you big villain!' I cried, with John hanging
up in the air by the scruff of his neck-cloth, but
holding still by his knife and fork, and a goose-leg in
between his lips, 'John Fry, what mean you by this,
sir?'
'Latt me dowun, or I can't tell 'e,' John answered with
some difficulty. So I let him come down, and I must
confess that he had reason on his side. 'Plaise your
worship'--John called me so, ever since I returned from
London, firmly believing that the King had made me a
magistrate at least; though I was to keep it secret--
'us zeed as how your worship were took with thinkin' of
King's business, in the middle of the whate-rigg: and
so uz zed, "Latt un coom to his zell, us had better
zave taime, by takking our dinner"; and here us be,
praise your worship, and hopps no offence with thick
iron spoon full of vried taties.'
I was glad enough to accept the ladle full of fried
batatas, and to make the best of things, which is
generally done by letting men have their own way.
Therefore I managed to dine with them, although it was
so early.
For according to all that I can find, in a long life
and a varied one, twelve o'clock is the real time for a
man to have his dinner. Then the sun is at his noon,
calling halt to look around, and then the plants and
leaves are turning, each with a little leisure time,
before the work of the afternoon. Then is the balance
of east and west, and then the right and left side of a
man are in due proportion, and contribute fairly with
harmonious fluids. And the health of this mode of
life, and its reclaiming virtue are well set forth in
our ancient rhyme,--
Sunrise, breakfast; sun high, dinner;
Sundown, sup; makes a saint of a sinner.
Whish, the wheat falls! Whirl again; ye have had good
dinners; give your master and mistress plenty to supply
another year. And in truth we did reap well and
fairly, through the whole of that afternoon, I not only
keeping lead, but keeping the men up to it. We got
through a matter of ten acres, ere the sun between the
shocks broke his light on wheaten plumes, then hung his
red cloak on the clouds, and fell into grey slumber.
Seeing this we wiped our sickles, and our breasts and
foreheads, and soon were on the homeward road, looking
forward to good supper.
Of course all the reapers came at night to the
harvest-supper, and Parson Bowden to say the grace as
well as to help to carve for us. And some help was
needed there, I can well assure you; for the reapers
had brave appetites, and most of their wives having
babies were forced to eat as a duty. Neither failed
they of this duty; cut and come again was the order of
the evening, as it had been of the day; and I had no
time to ask questions, but help meat and ladle gravy.
All the while our darling Annie, with her sleeves
tucked up, and her comely figure panting, was running
about with a bucket of taties mashed with lard and
cabbage. Even Lizzie had left her books, and was
serving out beer and cider; while mother helped
plum-pudding largely on pewter-plates with the mutton.
And all the time, Betty Muxworthy was grunting in and
out everywhere, not having space to scold even, but
changing the dishes, serving the meat, poking the fire,
and cooking more. But John Fry would not stir a peg,
except with his knife and fork, having all the airs of
a visitor, and his wife to keep him eating, till I
thought there would be no end of it.
Then having eaten all they could, they prepared
themselves, with one accord, for the business now of
drinking. But first they lifted the neck of corn,
dressed with ribbons gaily, and set it upon the
mantelpiece, each man with his horn a-froth; and then
they sang a song about it, every one shouting in the
chorus louder than harvest thunderstorm. Some were in
the middle of one verse, and some at the end of the
next one; yet somehow all managed to get together in
the mighty roar of the burden. And if any farmer up
the country would like to know Exmoor harvest-song as
sung in my time and will be sung long after I am
garnered home, lo, here I set it down for him, omitting
only the dialect, which perchance might puzzle him.
EXMOOR HARVEST-SONG
1
The corn, oh the corn, 'tis the ripening of the corn!
Go unto the door, my lad, and look beneath the moon,
Thou canst see, beyond the woodrick, how it is yelloon:
'Tis the harvesting of wheat, and the barley must be shorn.
(Chorus)
The corn, oh the corn, and the yellow, mellow corn!
Here's to the corn, with the cups upon the board!
We've been reaping all the day, and we'll reap again the morn
And fetch it home to mow-yard, and then we'll thank the Lord.
2
The wheat, oh the wheat, 'tis the ripening of the wheat!
All the day it has been hanging down its heavy head,
Bowing over on our bosoms with a beard of red:
'Tis the harvest, and the value makes the labour sweet.
(Chorus)
The wheat, oh the wheat, and the golden, golden wheat!
Here's to the wheat, with the loaves upon the board!
We've been reaping all the day, and we never will be beat,
But fetch it all to mow-yard, and then we'll thank the Lord.
3
The barley, oh the barley, and the barley is in prime!
All the day it has been rustling, with its bristles brown,
Waiting with its beard abowing, till it can be mown!
'Tis the harvest and the barley must abide its time.
(Chorus)
The barley, oh the barley, and the barley ruddy brown!
Here's to the barley, with the beer upon the board!
We'll go amowing, soon as ever all the wheat is down;
When all is in the mow-yard, we'll stop, and thank the Lord.
4
The oats, oh the oats, 'tis the ripening of the oats!
All the day they have been dancing with their flakes of white,
Waiting for the girding-hook, to be the nags' delight:
'Tis the harvest, let them dangle in their skirted coats.
(Chorus)
The oats, oh the oats, and the silver, silver oats!
Here's to the oats with the blackstone on the board!
We'll go among them, when the barley has been laid in rotes:
When all is home to mow-yard, we'll kneel and thank the Lord.
5
The corn, oh the corn, and the blessing of the corn!
Come unto the door, my lads, and look beneath the moon,
We can see, on hill and valley, how it is yelloon,
With a breadth of glory, as when our Lord was born.
(Chorus)
The corn, oh the corn, and the yellow, mellow corn!
Thanks for the corn, with our bread upon the board!
So shall we acknowledge it, before we reap the morn,
With our hands to heaven, and our knees unto the Lord.
Now we sang this song very well the first time, having
the parish choir to lead us, and the clarionet, and the
parson to give us the time with his cup; and we sang it
again the second time, not so but what you might praise
it (if you had been with us all the evening), although
the parson was gone then, and the clerk not fit to
compare with him in the matter of keeping time. But
when that song was in its third singing, I defy any man
(however sober) to have made out one verse from the
other, or even the burden from the verses, inasmuch as
every man present, ay, and woman too, sang as became
convenient to them, in utterance both of words and
tune.
And in truth, there was much excuse for them; because
it was a noble harvest, fit to thank the Lord for,
without His thinking us hypocrites. For we had more
land in wheat, that year, than ever we had before, and
twice the crop to the acre; and I could not help now
and then remembering, in the midst of the merriment,
how my father in the churchyard yonder would have
gloried to behold it. And my mother, who had left us
now, happening to return just then, being called to
have her health drunk (for the twentieth time at
least), I knew by the sadness in her eyes that she was
thinking just as I was. Presently, therefore, I
slipped away from the noise, and mirth, and smoking
(although of that last there was not much, except from
Farmer Nicholas), and crossing the courtyard in the
moonlight, I went, just to cool myself, as far as my
father's tombstone.
Prev
| Next
| Contents
|
