John Halifax [46]
you all know Mr. Fletcher; you are his men--some of you. He is not a man to be threatened."
This seemed to be taken rather angrily; but John went on speaking, as if he did not observe the fact.
"Nor am I one to be threatened, neither. Look here--the first one of you who attempted to break into Mr. Fletcher's house I should most certainly have shot. But I'd rather not shoot you, poor, starving fellows! I know what it is to be hungry. I'm sorry for you--sorry from the bottom of my heart."
There was no mistaking that compassionate accent, nor the murmur which followed it.
"But what must us do, Mr. Halifax?" cried Jacob Baines: "us be starved a'most. What's the good o' talking to we?"
John's countenance relaxed. I saw him lift his head and shake his hair back, with that pleased gesture I remember so well of old. He went down to the locked gate.
"Suppose I gave you something to eat, would you listen to me afterwards?"
There arose up a frenzied shout of assent. Poor wretches! they were fighting for no principle, true or false, only for bare life. They would have bartered their very souls for a mouthful of bread.
"You must promise to be peaceable," said John again, very resolutely, as soon as he could obtain a hearing. "You are Norton Bury folk, I know you. I could get every one of you hanged, even though Abel Fletcher is a Quaker. Mind, you'll be peaceable?"
"Ay--ay! Some'at to eat; give us some'at to eat."
John Halifax called out to Jael; bade her bring all the food of every kind that there was in the house, and give it to him out of the parlour-window. She obeyed--I marvel now to think of it--but she implicitly obeyed. Only I heard her fix the bar to the closed front door, and go back, with a strange, sharp sob, to her station at the hall-window.
"Now, my lads, come in!" and he unlocked the gate.
They came thronging up the steps, not more than two score, I imagined, in spite of the noise they had made. But two score of such famished, desperate men, God grant I may never again see!
John divided the food as well as he could among them; they fell to it like wild beasts. Meat, cooked or raw, loaves, vegetables, meal; all came alike, and were clutched, gnawed, and scrambled for, in the fierce selfishness of hunger. Afterwards there was a call for drink.
"Water, Jael; bring them water."
"Beer!" shouted some.
"Water," repeated John. "Nothing but water. I'll have no drunkards rioting at my master's door."
And, either by chance or design, he let them hear the click of his pistol. But it was hardly needed. They were all cowed by a mightier weapon still--the best weapon a man can use--his own firm indomitable will.
At length all the food we had in the house was consumed. John told them so; and they believed him. Little enough, indeed, was sufficient for some of them; wasted with long famine, they turned sick and faint, and dropped down even with bread in their mouths, unable to swallow it. Others gorged themselves to the full, and then lay along the steps, supine as satisfied brutes. Only a few sat and ate like rational human beings; and there was but one, the little, shrill-voiced man, who asked me if he might "tak a bit o' bread to the old wench at home?"
John, hearing, turned, and for the first time noticed me.
"Phineas, it was very wrong of you; but there is no danger now."
No, there was none--not even for Abel Fletcher's son. I stood safe by John's side, very happy, very proud.
"Well, my men," he said, looking round with a smile, "have you had enough to eat?"
"Oh, ay!" they all cried.
And one man added--"Thank the Lord!"
"That's right, Jacob Baines: and, another time, trust the Lord. You wouldn't then have been abroad this summer morning"--and he pointed to the dawn just reddening in the sky--"this quiet, blessed summer morning, burning and rioting, bringing yourselves to the gallows, and your children to starvation."
"They be nigh that a'ready," said Jacob, sullenly. "Us men ha' gotten a meal, thankee for it; but what'll become
This seemed to be taken rather angrily; but John went on speaking, as if he did not observe the fact.
"Nor am I one to be threatened, neither. Look here--the first one of you who attempted to break into Mr. Fletcher's house I should most certainly have shot. But I'd rather not shoot you, poor, starving fellows! I know what it is to be hungry. I'm sorry for you--sorry from the bottom of my heart."
There was no mistaking that compassionate accent, nor the murmur which followed it.
"But what must us do, Mr. Halifax?" cried Jacob Baines: "us be starved a'most. What's the good o' talking to we?"
John's countenance relaxed. I saw him lift his head and shake his hair back, with that pleased gesture I remember so well of old. He went down to the locked gate.
"Suppose I gave you something to eat, would you listen to me afterwards?"
There arose up a frenzied shout of assent. Poor wretches! they were fighting for no principle, true or false, only for bare life. They would have bartered their very souls for a mouthful of bread.
"You must promise to be peaceable," said John again, very resolutely, as soon as he could obtain a hearing. "You are Norton Bury folk, I know you. I could get every one of you hanged, even though Abel Fletcher is a Quaker. Mind, you'll be peaceable?"
"Ay--ay! Some'at to eat; give us some'at to eat."
John Halifax called out to Jael; bade her bring all the food of every kind that there was in the house, and give it to him out of the parlour-window. She obeyed--I marvel now to think of it--but she implicitly obeyed. Only I heard her fix the bar to the closed front door, and go back, with a strange, sharp sob, to her station at the hall-window.
"Now, my lads, come in!" and he unlocked the gate.
They came thronging up the steps, not more than two score, I imagined, in spite of the noise they had made. But two score of such famished, desperate men, God grant I may never again see!
John divided the food as well as he could among them; they fell to it like wild beasts. Meat, cooked or raw, loaves, vegetables, meal; all came alike, and were clutched, gnawed, and scrambled for, in the fierce selfishness of hunger. Afterwards there was a call for drink.
"Water, Jael; bring them water."
"Beer!" shouted some.
"Water," repeated John. "Nothing but water. I'll have no drunkards rioting at my master's door."
And, either by chance or design, he let them hear the click of his pistol. But it was hardly needed. They were all cowed by a mightier weapon still--the best weapon a man can use--his own firm indomitable will.
At length all the food we had in the house was consumed. John told them so; and they believed him. Little enough, indeed, was sufficient for some of them; wasted with long famine, they turned sick and faint, and dropped down even with bread in their mouths, unable to swallow it. Others gorged themselves to the full, and then lay along the steps, supine as satisfied brutes. Only a few sat and ate like rational human beings; and there was but one, the little, shrill-voiced man, who asked me if he might "tak a bit o' bread to the old wench at home?"
John, hearing, turned, and for the first time noticed me.
"Phineas, it was very wrong of you; but there is no danger now."
No, there was none--not even for Abel Fletcher's son. I stood safe by John's side, very happy, very proud.
"Well, my men," he said, looking round with a smile, "have you had enough to eat?"
"Oh, ay!" they all cried.
And one man added--"Thank the Lord!"
"That's right, Jacob Baines: and, another time, trust the Lord. You wouldn't then have been abroad this summer morning"--and he pointed to the dawn just reddening in the sky--"this quiet, blessed summer morning, burning and rioting, bringing yourselves to the gallows, and your children to starvation."
"They be nigh that a'ready," said Jacob, sullenly. "Us men ha' gotten a meal, thankee for it; but what'll become