Books: Under the Storm
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Charlotte M. Yonge >> Under the Storm
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"He is a minister, and he comes by law," argued Patience. "Do be
satisfied, Stead. I'm always in fear now that folks guess we have
somewhat in charge; and Emlyn is such a child for prying and
chattering. And if they should come and beat thee again, or do
worse. Oh, Stead! surely you might give them up to a good man like
that; Smith Blane says you ought!"
"I doubt me! I know that sort don't hold with Bishops, and, so far
as I can see, by father's old Prayer-book, a lawful minister must
have a Bishop to lay hands on him," said Stead, who had studied the
subject as far as his means would allow, and had good though slow
brains of his own, matured by responsibility. "I'll tell you what,
Patience, I'll go and see Dr. Eales about it. I wot he is a minister
of the old sort, that father would say I might trust to."
Dr. Eales was still living in Mrs. Lightfoot's lodgings, at the sign
of the Wheatsheaf, or more properly starving, for he had only ten
pounds a year paid to him out of the benefice that had been taken
away from him; and though that went farther then than it would do
now, it would not have maintained him, but that his good hostess
charged him as little as she could afford, and he also had a few
pupils among the gentry's sons, but there were too many clergymen in
the same straits for this to be a very profitable undertaking. There
were no soldiers in Mrs. Lightfoot's house now, and the doctor lived
more at large, but still cautiously, for in the opposite house, named
the "Ark," whose gable end nearly met the Wheatsheaf's, dwelt a rival
baker, a Brownist, whose great object seemed to be to spy upon the
clergyman, and have something to report against him, nor was Mrs.
Lightfoot's own man to be trusted. Stead lingered about the open
stall where the bread was sold till no customer was at hand, and then
mentioned under his breath to the good dame his desire to speak with
her lodger.
"Certainly," she said, but the Doctor was now with his pupils at
Mistress Rivett's. He always left them at eleven of the clock, more
shame of Mrs. Rivett not to give the good man his dinner, which she
would never feel. Steadfast had better watch for him at the gate
which opened on the down, for there he could speak more privately and
securely than at home.
He took the advice, and passed away the time as best he could,
learning on the way that a news letter had been received stating that
the King was with the Scottish army at Newcastle, and that it was
expected that on receiving their arrears of pay, the Scots would
surrender him to the Parliament, a proceeding which the folk in the
market-place approved or disapproved according to their politics.
Mrs. Rivett's house stood a little apart from the town, with a court
and gates opening on the road over the down; and just as eleven
strokes were chiming from the town clock below, a somewhat bent,
silver-haired man, in a square cap and black gown, leaning on a
stick, came out of it. Stead, after the respectful fashion of his
earlier days, put his knee to the ground, doffed his steeple-crowned
hat and craved a blessing, both he and the Doctor casting a quick
glance round so as to be sure there was no one in sight.
Dr. Eales gave it earnestly, as one to whom it was a rare joy to find
a country youth thus demanding it, and as he looked at the honest
face he said:
"You are mine hostess' good purveyor, methinks, to whom I have often
owed a wholesome meal."
"Steadfast Kenton, so please your reverence. There is a secret
matter on which I would fain have your counsel, and Mistress
Lightfoot thought I might speak to you here with greater safety."
"She did well. Speak on, my good boy, if we walk up and down here we
shall be private. It does my heart good to commune with a faithful
young son of the Church."
Steadfast told his story, at which the good old Canon was much
affected. His brother Holworth, as he called him, was not in prison
but in the Virginian plantations. He was still the only true
minister of Elmwood, and Mr. Woodley, though owned by the present so-
called law of the land, was not there rightly by the law of the
Church, and, therefore, Stead was certainly not bound to surrender
the trust to him, but rather the contrary.
The Doctor could have gone into a long disquisition about
Presbyterian Orders, contradicting the arguments many good and devout
people adduced in favour of them, but there was little time, so he
only confirmed with authority Stead's belief that a Bishop's
Ordination was indispensable to a true pastor, "the only door by
which to enter to the charge of the fold."
Then came the other question of attendance on his ministry, and
whether to attend the feast given out for the Sunday week, after the
long-forced abstinence: Patience's, ever since the break-up of the
parish; Steadfast's, since the siege of Bristol. Dr. Eales
considered, "I cannot bid you go to that in the efficacy of which
neither you nor I believe, my son," he said. "It would not be with
faith. Here, indeed, I have ministered privately to a few of the
faithful in their own houses, but the risk is over great for you and
your sister to join us, espied as we are. How is it with your home?"
"O, sir, would you even come thither?" exclaimed Steadfast, joyfully,
and he described his ravine, which was of course known to the Elmwood
neighbours, but very seldom visited by them, never except in the
middle of the day, and where the thicket and the caverns afforded
every facility for concealment.
Whitsun Day was coming, and Dr. Eales proposed to come over to the
glen and celebrate the Holy Feast in the very early morning before
anyone was astir. There were a few of his Bristol flock who would be
thankful for the opportunity of meeting more safely than they could
do in the city, since at Easter they had as nearly as possible been
all arrested in a pavilion in Mr. Rivett's garden which they had
thought unsuspected.
There would be one market day first, and on that Stead would come and
explain his preparations, and hear what the Doctor had arranged. And
so it was. The time was to be three o'clock, the very dawn of the
long summer day, the time when sleep is deepest. Dr. Eales and Mrs.
Lightfoot would come out the night before, he not returning after his
lesson to the Rivetts, and she making some excuse about going to see
friends for the Sunday.
The Rivetts, living outside the gates where sentries still kept
guard, could start in the morning, and so could the four others who
were to form part of the congregation. Goody Grace was the only
person near home whom Patience wished to invite, for she too had
grieved over the great deprivation, and had too much heart for the
Church to be satisfied with Mr. Woodley's ministrations. Perhaps
even she did not understand the difference, but she could be trusted,
and the young people knew how happy it would make her.
Little can we guess what such an opportunity was to the faithful
children of the Church in those sad days. Goody Grace folded her
hands and murmured, "Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in
peace," when Patience told her of the invitation, and Patience,
though she had all her ordinary work to do, went quietly about it, as
if she had some great thought of peace and awe upon her.
"Why, Patience, you seem as if you were making ready for some guest,
the Prince of Wales at least!" said Emlyn, on Saturday night.
Patience smiled a sweet little happy smile and in her heart she said
"And so I am, and for a greater far!" but she did say "Yes, Emlyn,
Dr. Eales is coming to sleep here to-night, and he will pray with us
in the early morning."
It had been agreed that the Celebration should take place first, and
then after a short pause, the Morning Service. Jerusha was eleven
years old, and a very good girl, and since Confirmation was
impossible, her brother and sister would have asked for her admission
to the Holy Feast without it, but she could not be called up without
the danger of awaking Emlyn; and Patience was so sure that it was not
safe to trust that damsel with the full knowledge of the treasure
that, though Steadfast always thought his sister hard on her, he was
forced to give way. The children were to be admitted to Matins, for
if any idea oozed out that this latter service had been held, no
great danger was likely to come of it. Dr. Eales arrived in the
evening, Steadfast meeting him to act as guide, and Patience set
before him of her best. A fowl, which she had been forced to broil
for want of other means of dressing it; bread baked in a tin with a
fire of leaves and small sticks heaped over it; roasted eggs,
excellent butter and milk. She apologised for not having dared to
fetch any ale for fear of exciting suspicion, but the doctor set her
quite at ease by his manifest enjoyment of her little feast,
declaring that he had not made so good a meal since Bristol was
taken.
Then he catechised the children. Little Ben could say the Lord's
Prayer, the Belief, and some of the shorter Commandments, and the
doctor patted his little round white cap, and gave him two Turkey
figs as a reward.
Jerusha, when she got over her desperate fright enough to speak above
a whisper, was quite perfect from her name down to "charity with all
men," but Emlyn stumbled horribly over even the first answers, and
utterly broke down in the Fourth Commandment; but she smiled up in
the doctor's face in her pretty way, and blushed as she said "The
chaplain at Blythedale had taught us so far, your reverence."
"And have you learnt no further?"
"If you were here to teach me, sir, I would soon learn it," said the
little witch, but she did not come over him as she did with most
people.
"You have as good an instructor as I for your needs, in this discreet
maiden," said Dr. Eales, and as something of a pout descended on the
sparkling little face, "when you know all the answers, perchance
Steadfast here may bring you to my lodgings and I will hear you."
"I could learn them myself if I had the book," said Emlyn.
The fact being that the Catechism was taught by Patience from memory
in those winter evenings when all went to bed to save candle light,
but that when Steadfast retired to the cow-house, Emlyn either
insisted on playing with the others or pretended to go to sleep; and
twitted Patience with being a Puritan. However, the hopes of going
into Bristol might be an incentive, though she indulged in a grumble
to Rusha, and declared that she liked a jolly chaplain, and this old
doctor was not a bit better than a mere Puritan.
Rusha opened her big eyes. She never did understand Emlyn, and
perhaps that young maiden took delight in shocking her. They were
ordered off to bed much sooner than they approved on that fair summer
night, when the half-moon was high and the nightingales were singing
all round--not that they cared for that, but there was a sense about
them that something mysterious was going on, and Emlyn was wild with
curiosity and vexation at being kept out of it.
She would have kept watch and crept out; but that Patience came in,
and lay down, so close to the door that it was impossible to get out
without waking her, and besides if Emlyn did but stir, she asked what
was the matter.
"They mean something!" said Emlyn to herself, "and I'll know what it
is. They have no right to keep me out of the plot; I am not like
stupid little Rusha! I have been in a siege, and four battles,
besides skirmishes! I'll watch till they think I'm asleep, if I pull
all the hulls out of my bed! Then they will begin."
But nothing moved that Emlyn could hear or see. She woke and slept,
but was quite aware when Patience rose up after a brief doze, and
found the first streaks of dawn in the sky, a cuckoo calling as if
for very life in the nearest tree, and Steadfast quietly sweeping the
dew from the grass in a little open space shut in by rocks, trees,
and bushes, close to the bank of the brook.
A chest which he kept in the cow-shed, and which bore traces of the
fire in the old house, had been brought down to serve as an Altar,
and it was laid over, for want of anything better, with one of poor
Mrs. Kenton's best table-cloths, which Patience had always thought
too good for use.
The next thing was to meet the rest of the scanty congregation at the
entrances of the wood, and guide them to the spot. This was safely
done, Goody Grace knew the way, and had guided one of the old Elmwood
maid servants whom she had managed to shelter for the night. Mrs.
Lightfoot was there with Mrs. Rivett, her daughter, elder son, and a
grave-looking man servant, Mr. Henshaw, a Barbados merchant, with his
wife, and a very worn battered shabby personage, but unmistakably a
gentleman of quality, and wounded in the wars, for he was so lame
that the merchant had to help him over the rough paths.
It was a wonderful Whitsun-day morning that none of the little party
could ever forget. The sunrise could not be seen in that deep,
narrow place, but the sky was of a strange pale shining blue, and the
tender young green of the trees overhead was touched with gold, the
glades of the wood were intensely blue with hyacinths, and with all
sorts of delicate greens twined above in the bushes over them. A
wild cherry, all silver white, was behind their Altar, the green
floor was marbled with cuckoo flowers and buttercups, and the clear
little stream whose voice murmured by was fringed with kingcups and
forget-me-nots. The scents were of the most delicious dewy
freshness; and as to the sounds! Larks sang high up in the sky, wood
pigeons cooed around, nightingales, thrushes, every bird of the wood
seemed to be trying to make music and melody.
And in the midst the grey-haired priest stood close to an ivy-covered
rock, with the white covered Altar, and the bright golden vessels
which he had carefully looked to in the night, and the little
congregation knelt close round him on cloaks and mats, the women
hooded, the old Cavalier's long thin locks, the merchant's dark ones,
and the close cropped heads of the servant and of Steadfast bared to
the morning breeze in its pure, dewy, soft freshness, fit emblem of
the Comforter. No book was produced, all was repeated from memory.
They durst not raise their voices, but the birds were their choir,
and as they murmured their _Gloria in Excelsis_, the sweet notes rang
out in that unconscious praise.
When the blessing of peace had been given there was a long hush, and
no one rose till after the vessels had been replaced in their casket,
and Stead was climbing up with it again to the hiding place. Then
there was a move to the front of the hut, where Rusha was just
awakening, and Emlyn feigned to be still asleep. It was not yet four
o'clock, but the sweet freshness was still around everything. Young
Mistress Alice Rivett and her brother were enchanted to gather
flowers, and ran after their hosts to see the cows milked, and the
goats, pigs, and poultry fed, sights new to them; but the elder
ladies shivered and were glad to warm themselves at the little fire
Patience hastily lighted, after cleaning the hut as fast as she
could, by rolling up the bedding, and fairly carrying Ben out to
finish his night's rest in the cow-house.
The guests had brought their provisions, and insisted that their
young hosts should eat with them, accepting only the warm milk that
Patience brought in her pail, and they drank from the horn cups of
the family. Dr. Eales observed to the Cavalier that it was a true
_Agape_ or love-feast like those of the ancient Church, and the
gentleman's melancholy, weather-beaten face relaxed into a smile as
he sighed and hoped that the same endurance as that of the Christians
of old would be granted in this time of persecution.
Emlyn was gratified at being a good deal noticed by the company as so
unlike the others. She was not shy and frightened like Rusha, who
hung her head and had not a word to say for herself, but chattered
away to the young Rivetts, showing them the kid, the calves, and the
lambs, taking Mistress Alice to the biggest cowslips and earliest
wild roses, and herself making a sweet posy for each of the ladies.
The old Cavalier himself, Colonel Harford, was even amused with the
pretty little maid, who, he told Dr. Eales, resembled Mirth as Master
John Milton had depicted her, ere he took up with General Cromwell
and his crew; and was a becoming figure for this early morn.
On learning the child's history, he turned out to know Sir Harry
Blythedale, but not to have heard of him since they had parted at
Newark, he to guard the king to Oxford, Sir Harry to join Lord
Astley, and he much feared that the old knight had been killed at
Stowe, in the fight between Astley and Brereton. This would account
for nothing having been heard from him about Emlyn, but Colonel
Harford promised, if any opportunity should offer, to communicate
with Lady Blythedale, whom he believed to be living at Worcester; and
he patted Emlyn on the head, called her a little loyal veteran,
accepted a tiny posy of forget-me-not from her, and after fumbling in
his pocket, gave her a crown piece. Steadfast and Patience were
afraid it was his last, and much wished she had contrived not to take
it, but she said she should keep it for a remembrance.
After this rest, the beautiful Whitsuntide Matins was said in the
fair forest church, and before six o'clock this strange and blessed
festival had ended, though not the peace and thankfulness in the
hearts of the little flock.
Indeed, instead of a sermon, Dr. Eales's parting words were "And he
went in the strength of that meat forty days and forty nights."
CHAPTER XVI.
A FAIR OFFER.
"We be content" the keepers said,
"We three and you no less,
Then why should we of you be afraid,
As we never did transgress."
ROBIN HOOD BALLAD.
Steadfast was busy weeding the little patch of barley that lay near
the ruins of the old farm house with little Ben basking round him.
The great carefulness as to keeping the ground clear had been taught
him by his father, and was one reason why his fields, though so
small, did not often bear a bad crop. He heard his name called over
the hedge, and looking up saw the Squire, Mr. Elmwood, on horseback.
He came up, respectfully taking off his hat and standing with it in
his hand as was then the custom when thus spoken to. "What is this I
hear, Kenton," said the squire, "that you have been having a
prelatist service on your ground?"
Steadfast was dismayed, but did not speak, till Mr. Elmwood added,
"Is it true?"
"Yes, sir," he answered resolutely.
"Did you know it was against the law to use the Book of Common
Prayer?"
"There was no book, sir."
"But you do not deny it was the same superstitious and Popish
ceremony and festival abolished by law."
"No, sir," Stead allowed, though rather by gesture than word.
"Now, look you here, young Kenton, I ask no questions. I do not want
to bring anyone into trouble, and you are a hard-working, honest lad
by what they tell me, who have a brother fighting in the good Cause
and have suffered from the lawless malignants yourself. Was it not
the Prince's troopers that wrought this ruin?" pointing towards the
blackened gable, "and shot down your father? Aye! The more shame
you should hold with them! I wish you no harm I say, nor the blinded
folk who must have abused your simplicity: but I am a justice of the
peace, and I will not have laws broken on my land. If this thing
should happen again, I shall remember that you have no regular or
lawful tenure of this holding, and put you forth from it."
He waited, but a threat always made silent resistance easy to
Steadfast, and there was no answer.
Mr. Elmwood, however, let that pass, for he was not a hard or a
fanatical man, and he knew that to hold such a service was not such
an easy matter that it was likely to be soon repeated. He looked
round at the well-mended fences, the clean ground, and the tokens of
intelligent industry around, and the clean homespun shirt sleeves
that spoke of the notable manager at home. 'You are an industrious
fellow, my good lad," he said, "how long have you had this farm to
yourself?"
"Getting on for five years, your honour," said Steadfast.
"And is that your brother?"
"Yes, please your honour," picking Ben up in his arms to prevent the
barley from being pulled up by way of helping him.
"How many of you are there?"
"Five of us, sir, but my eldest brother is in Captain Venn's troop."
"So I heard, and what is this about a child besides?"
"An orphan, sir, I found after the skirmish at the mill stream, who
was left with us till her friends can send after her."
"Well, well. You seem a worthy youth," said Mr. Elmwood, who was
certainly struck and touched by the silent uncomplaining resolution
of the mere stripling who had borne so heavy a burthen. "If you were
heartily one of us, I should be glad to make you woodward, instead of
old Tomkins, and build up yonder house for you, but I cannot do it
for one who is hankering after prelacy, and might use the place for I
know not what plots and conspiracies of the malignants."
Again Steadfast took refuge in a little bow of acknowledgment, but
kept his lips shut, till again the squire demanded, "What do you
think of it? There's a fair offer. What have you to say for
yourself?"
He had collected himself and answered, "I thank you, sir. You are
very good. If you made me woodward, I would serve your honour
faithfully, and have no plots or the like there. But, your honour, I
was bred up in the Church and I cannot sell myself."
"Why, you foolish, self-conceited boy, what do you know about it? Is
not what is good enough for better men than you fit to please you?"
To this Stead again made no answer, having said a great deal for him.
"Well," said Mr. Elmwood, angered at last, "if ever I saw a dogged
moon-calf, you are one! However, I let you go scot free this time,
in regard for your brother's good service, and the long family on
your hands, but mind, I shall put in an active woodward instead of
old Tomkins, who has been past his work these ten years, and if ever
I hear of seditious or prelatical doings in yonder gulley again, off
you go."
He rode off, leaving Steadfast with temper more determined, but mind
not more at ease. The appointment of a woodward was bad news, for
the copsewood and the game had been left to their fate for the last
few years, and what were the rights of the landlord over them Stead
did not know, so that there might be many causes of trouble,
especially if the said woodward considered him a person to be
specially watched. Indeed, the existence of such a person would make
a renewal of what Mr. Elmwood called the prelatist assembly
impossible, and with a good deal of sorrow he announced the fact on
the next market day to Mrs. Lightfoot. He could not see Dr. Eales,
but when next he came in, she gave him a paper on which was simply
marked "Ps. xxxvii, 7." He looked out the reference and found "Hold
thee still in the Lord and abide patiently upon Him." Stead hoped
that Patience and the rest would never know what an offer had been
made to him, but Master Brown, who had recommended him, and who did
not at all like the prospect of a strange woodward, came to
expostulate with him for throwing away such a chance for a mere whim,
telling Patience she was a sensible wench and ought to persuade her
brother to see what was for his own good and the good of all, holding
up himself as an example.
"I never missed my church and had the parson's good word all along,
and yet you see I am ready to put up with this good man without
setting myself up to know more than my elders and betters! Eh! Hast
not a word to say for thyself? Then I'll tell the squire, who is a
good and friendly gentleman to all the old servants, that you have
thought better of it, and will thankfully take his kindness, and do
your best."
"I cannot go against father," said Steadfast.
"And what would he have done, good man, but obey them that have the
rule, and let wiser folk think for thee. But all the young ones are
pig-headed as mules now-a-days, and must think for themselves, one
running off to the Independents, and one to the Quakers and Shakers,
and one to the Fifth Monarchy men, and you, Steadfast Kenton, that I
thought better things of, talking of the Church and offending the
squire with thy prelatic doings, that have been forbidden by Act of
Parliament. What say you to that, my lad? Come, out with it," for
Stead had more difficulty in answering Master Brown, who had been a
great authority throughout his life, than even the Squire himself.
"Parson said there was higher law than Parliament."
"Eh! What, the King? He is a prisoner, bless him, but they will
never let him go till they have bent him to their will, and what will
you do then?"
"Not the King," muttered Steadfast.
"Eh! what! If you have come to pretending to know the law of God
better than your elders, you are like the rest of them, and I have
done with you." And away tramped the steward in great displeasure,
while Patience put her apron over her head and cried bitterly.
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