The Master of Liversedge (18 page)

Suddenly he started up, every sense alert to the present emergency. His quick ears had caught the low growl of the dog from downstairs. He put out a hand, and shook the Colonel.

‘Someone’s there,’ he whispered.

Several of the others had heard the growl, and were quietly rousing their fellows. In a moment, every man was on his feet and listening intently.

The dog growled again, tentatively, then more strongly. They listened, and could hear the muffled sound of many feet approaching from the distance. The sound steadily grew in volume as it drew closer to the mill: then suddenly it stopped, as though cut off with a knife.

The dog now began to bark unrestrainedly. The next moment, there came a sharp splintering sound, a wild cry of triumph, and a rush of feet into the forecourt of the mill.

‘They’ve broken through the outer gates,’ stated Arkwright. ‘Right lads, raise the flagstones.’

‘Look to your muskets,’ ordered the Colonel, as soon as the first command was obeyed. ‘Hold your fire until the word is given.’

The men took up their positions as previously arranged, and waited with their firearms at the ready.

Another loud shout rang out, and a shower of stones hailed against the ground floor windows, followed by the crashing sound of breaking glass.

‘Not yet,’ warned Arkwright. ‘Wait till they close in a bit.’

‘What’s happened to your two watchmen?’ asked the Colonel, in a low tone. ‘Didn’t hear them fire, did you?’

‘No. Overpowered by now, I expect. Unless they ratted — I chose those I was most sure of for this part of the business.’ He indicated the interior of the mill with a jerk of his head.

At that moment, there was a wild burst of firing through the shattered downstairs windows. Evidently the rioters had moved in closer to the mill, and were preparing to attempt an entry.

‘Now!’ ordered Arkwright, sharply. ‘Fire!’

Those who were stationed at the previously manufactured loopholes along the front of the building, let loose a volley of musketry. Its echoes resounded through the quiet valley; for all at once a shocked silence had fallen, as the rioters realized for the first time that the mill was being ably defended by armed men. They had hoped and expected that, as in other places, they would find here only a few inexpert guards with a pistol or so among them, and small science in handling weapons.

A shout from Black George rallied them. A sharp word of command, and they leapt at the great door of the building, their hatchet blades glinting evilly in the moonlight. Simultaneously, another group of them let fly with a bombardment of stones, this time at the upstairs windows where lurked the hidden marksmen. Some missed their mark, for these windows were smaller than those downstairs; but the sound of crashing glass testified to the accuracy of aim of the rest.

Several of the defenders leapt smartly back as flying fragments of glass came their way. One or two suffered minor cuts, but no one was seriously hurt.

‘Back to your positions!’ ordered the Colonel, momentarily forgetting this was Arkwright’s affair.

The men responded, moving forward through jagged heaps of glass fragments which crunched beneath their feet.

‘Fire!’

Once again a volley rang through the night. This time, it was followed by groans, and the soft thud of falling bodies.

‘Hit a few of ’em,’ said the Colonel, in satisfaction. ‘Someone ring that alarm bell, quick! We’ll get the military here.’

The bell-rope was hanging just beyond the head of the stairs. Arkwright signalled to a workman who was standing guard there; he went over, and seized the rope.

The bell rang out, its urgent clangour echoing high above the noise of the hatchets which struck in vain at the unyielding door. For a moment, the Luddites paused, dismayed at the sound.

‘Hammers!’ roared Black George. ‘Use t’ hammers — hatchet blades are turning — give way to t’ lads wi’ hammers!’

The hatchet men fell back, and those armed with hammers took their place. Sparks flew out as time and again they brought down the weapons with their full weight behind them: but still the great door stood firm.

‘Side door,’ whispered one of the leaders, hoarsely. ‘Door to t’ counting house — let’s try that.’

‘Ay — some of ye go there — t’ rest keep on here,’ ordered Mellor.

Those indicated detached themselves, and made their way cautiously past the counting house to the door in the side of the building. It was no less sturdy than the main door; but it was smaller, and their hopes rose as they began to attack it with vigour.

A heavy burst of firing rained down on them from the windows above. Several of them dropped in their tracks; the rest were forced to abandon the attempt.

‘Let’s try t’ rear,’ suggested one man, as quietly as he could, for the uproar now was tumultuous. ‘They’re mostly firing on t’ front, I reckon — happen we’ll find a way in there.’

The idea caught on, and the remaining members of the small party crept stealthily to the rear of the building. And now they were thankful for the wild clangour of the alarm bell, and the ring of their comrades’ hammers on the great door.

Perhaps a dozen of them reached the rear of the building unnoticed. The windows here were undamaged, and now came the difficult part of their business. They must smash the windows in order to gain admittance, and there was a risk that even in all this din, the noise of breaking glass might draw down fire upon their heads. Yet another difficulty was the fact that the mill had been constructed close to the edge of the river. An incautious step in the dark would send a man plunging headlong into the fast flowing waters. Several of them now clung precariously to jutting stones, and seemed uncertain of what to do next.

‘Try to climb on t’ wheel,’ urged their leader. ‘We might be able to reach t’ small window to t’ side of it.’

Two or three edged along the bank, eager to make the attempt. Eventually, one did succeed in climbing on to the wheel; but he could not keep his footing on the wet, slimy surface. He slipped, his hands clawed desperately for support, and the next moment a shriek sounded from him as he went hurtling through the air into the waters beneath.

At once, a burst of firing from above splattered around the rest. One or two dropped silently to join their companion in the water; the rest hung for a moment close in to the building, then gradually made their way back to join their comrades in the assault on the main door.

The rioters were growing desperate by now, as the minutes sped by, and still they could not gain an entrance to the building. And the bell kept ever clanging, clanging, calling loudly for assistance.

‘Stop that damned bell!’ shouted Mellor. ‘Fire, lads, an’ break t’ bloody thing!’

Several shots rang out in response to his order, but still the bell continued its strident appeal.

Frantically, Mellor snatched a musket from the man nearest him.

‘Shoot, I say! We’ll have t’ sojers on us, else! Shoot!’

Yet another round of the precious ammunition was expended, but this time to some purpose. The great bell quivered, then fell silent.

A cheer went up. Inside the mill, the defenders looked at each other for a moment in dismay. The bell-rope had slithered uselessly to the floor.

‘A lucky shot,’ said Arkwright. ‘They’ve broken the rope.’ He turned to the Colonel. ‘Take over here, sir; I’ll see what I can do to get it going again.’

He signalled to one of the men to accompany him; and, grasping their muskets, they ascended a ladder to a trap-door in the roof. They opened this, and cautiously wriggled out beside the structure which held the bell. A brief survey revealed that the broken rope was swinging within grasp.

‘We’ll take it in turns to pull,’ directed Arkwright. ‘You start. I’ll pick some of ’em off, meanwhile, if they look like firing again.’

The man was about to obey; but suddenly a loud, splintering crack was heard, and a roar arose from the Luddites.

‘T’ door’s bursted! We’ve done it — Sam’s done it — Sam Hartley! Sam Hartley!’

The name echoed and re-echoed through the throng.

In truth, there was little enough to shout about: the hole they had succeeded in making was little bigger than a man’s head, and would need much more work on it before it would admit them, even singly.

‘Fire through the hole!’ ordered Colonel Grey, sharply, to the two men in the best position for doing so. ‘Give ’em another volley, the rest of you!’

But one of the two men threw down his musket without a word, and folded his arms.

‘D’ye hear!’ roared the Colonel. ‘Fire through that hole in the door!’

The others obeyed at once but the first man still stood motionless.

‘Insubordination!’ snapped the Colonel. ‘When this is over, you’re under arrest!’

Shrieks and groans rose up from the rioters, giving witness to the accurate aim of the defenders.

‘Sam’s hit!’ arose a shout. ‘They got him — Sam’s hit!’

The man who had thrown down his musket turned fiercely on the Colonel, his eyes blazing in a dead-white face.

‘My brother!’ he exclaimed, in a choking voice. ‘God damn thy soul, tha asked me to fire on my own brother — and now he’s dead!’

He broke down. Just then, the bell resumed its insistent clamour.

The shot had not killed Sam outright, though he was badly hit. John Booth was close by as he fell, and bent over the still form.

‘Sam!’ He held his hand for a moment over the other man’s heart, and felt the stir of life. ‘Thank God — oh, thank God!’

He straightened up with the idea of trying to move Hartley away from the thick of the turmoil. As he did so, another fierce volley from above raked the mob.

John Booth dropped beside his companion, shot through the leg.

By now, the Luddite leaders were beginning to suffer from strong misgivings. In spite of their initial success in breaking down a small portion of the door, they found they could make no more headway with it. The defenders were in an impregnable position, under cover, and seemingly, with an inexhaustible supply of ammunition: the Luddites’ own scanty stocks were almost finished. Moreover, they had been at the attack for more than half an hour; and, during most of that time, the bell on the roof had never stopped its wild call for help. By now, it must have been heard: before long, they could expect to see the military come charging down upon them.

The disaffection spread rapidly through the ranks: a further barrage of fire from above settled the matter. Cursing vehemently, Black George reluctantly agreed to abandon the attack. All realized the need for haste. They must be miles away from that spot, and safely hidden in their separate homes before the soldiers arrived. A widespread search would follow, and suspicion fall on any man who was not in his bed.

They helped the less badly wounded of their comrades from the spot; but dared not encumber themselves with those who were helpless.

Black George bent briefly over John, lying senseless beside Sam Hartley.

‘Eh, lad!’ was all he could find to say, but he brushed his sleeve across his face as someone dragged him away.

NINETEEN: A LARK SINGING

There were many that night who were harshly awakened from sleep by the strident call of the alarm bell. Some burrowed their heads deeper under the bedclothes, fearful of knowing what the signal might portend: others were frankly curious, and heads poked out of windows as neighbour exchanged surmise with neighbour. But when the noise of the bell was followed by the sound of scurrying footsteps through the villages; when, later, the clatter of mounted troops swept past beneath their windows; then the people of the district were in little doubt as to what had taken place.

Mary Lister guessed earlier than many, for the firing and shouting were plainly audible from the Vicarage. At first, she crouched wretchedly in her bed, listening and wondering anxiously how Arkwright was faring, for it was of him that she first thought. She did not seriously entertain the idea that her cousin might be one of the attackers. She knew his gentle spirit; and failed to allow sufficiently for the influence of George Mellor, and the binding effect of the Luddite oath.

After a time, she heard sounds of movement in the house, and went out on to the landing. Mrs. Duckworth stood there in a voluminous dressing-gown, a candle held in one shaking hand.

‘What is it, Miss Mary?’ she whispered, fearfully. ‘It sounds as though them black devils is attacking t’ mill.’

Mary admitted that this was what she, too, feared; and the two women agreed to dress and brew a comforting dish of tea downstairs in the kitchen.

It was while they were sipping this by the resuscitated fire that they heard the soldiers ride past. Mrs. Duckworth blenched.

‘Pray Heaven Master John’s not mixed up in this lot!’ she said, fervently.

‘I can’t think it,’ replied Mary, attempting comfort. ‘You know his views on violence.’

‘Ay, but a good lad times gets led into evil by others — they know how to work on him.’

This was so much what Arkwright had once said of John, that Mary’s heart missed a beat as she considered the likelihood again. Who could say what arguments might be brought to bear on her cousin? What threats, even? Then there was the solemn oath which she had heard him take — he was so young in experience, though intellectually ahead of his years.

She set down her cup, a sudden wave of panic sweeping over her. Mrs. Duckworth noticed the change in her face, and went to her side.

‘Don’t swoon, now, lass. Put thy head down, so — ’

‘I’m all right,’ said Mary, trying to rally herself. ‘It’s the late hour, and the anxiety — and oh, I wish I could be there, and know for myself what is happening! It’s the uncertainty that’s so hard to bear.’

‘Get back to bed,’ urged the housekeeper, forgetting some of her own anxiety in the present need to care for someone else. ‘We can do no good, here, and we’ll learn nowt till t’ morning.’

But Mary could not face the prospect of a darkening room alive with the bogies of her imagination. She chose to remain where she was, and the housekeeper stayed with her. They sat on by the leaping fire which could no longer warm them; talking and falling silent by turns, but always coming back to the one subject which occupied both minds.

It was after three o’clock when they heard a knock on the back door. They looked at each other in silent apprehension for a moment and made no attempt to answer it.

The knock was repeated, though not loudly. Mrs. Duckworth rose reluctantly to her feet, and, seizing the poker from the hearth, went over to the door. White-faced, Mary picked up the shovel and followed at her heels.

The housekeeper shot back the bolts, turned the key in the lock, and slowly opened the door.

‘Don’t be afraid.’ It was Arkwright, and he stepped at once into the room, closing the door after him. ‘I saw a chink of light under the door, and guessed someone was astir.’

Standing in the full light of the lamp, he startled them by his dishevelled appearance. His clothes were dirty and tom, his hands smeared with grease and grime, and there was a small jagged cut on his cheek on which the blood had dried.

‘You’re in a right pickle,’ said Mrs. Duckworth, surveying him. ‘Come in and sit you down, sir, and I’ll get you a drop o’ summat. You look as if you could do wi’ it, an’ all.’

‘Thank you, no time for that,’ replied Arkwright. He looked quickly from one to the other of them, inwardly dreading to break the news he brought, but giving no sign beyond a more than usual sternness of countenance. ‘I’ve bad news for you,’ he continued, abruptly. ‘Prepare yourselves for an unpleasant shock.’

‘It’s John,’ said Mary, putting her hand to her mouth. ‘He’s — he’s — dead?’

The words tailed away.

‘Dying,’ answered Arkwright. ‘He can’t last the night. That’s why I’ve come for you. You must rouse your uncle, and break the news to him. There isn’t much time, if he would see the lad before he goes.’

‘Oh, my lamb, my lamb, my baby!’ Mrs. Duckworth was beside herself with grief. ‘How could the Lord let a sweet innocent like him suffer for the misdeeds of others? Oh, my little lad — so gentle, so kind!’

‘Hush, dear,’ soothed Mary, putting her arms about the motherly form, while the tears dropped unheeded from her own eyes. ‘There, hush now.’

‘The Luddites made an attack on my mill tonight,’ explained Arkwright, averting his eyes from their distress. ‘He was with them, and was wounded — shot in the leg. It’s had to be amputated — he’s under arrest, of course, but I persuaded them to get a surgeon to him. He’s at the inn at Robertown. Colonel Grey’s agreed for his father to see him — and you, if you desire it, ma’am’ his eyes turned to Mary for a brief moment — ‘no one else, I’m afraid.’

Mrs. Duckworth dropped into a chair, and began to sob unrestrainedly.

‘I’ll go to my uncle at once,’ said Mary, white to the lips, but quite controlled. ‘I’ll get him ready as soon as possible.’

She lit a candle at the fire, and, leaving them together in the kitchen, groped her way, blind with tears, to the stairs. She must not break down now: later, perhaps, when all the sorry tale of the day was told — but not now. Her uncle and Mrs. Duckworth needed her support.

Sometimes, in later years, she would wake in the night crying out in torment at the memory of that next ten minutes when she was forced to give her uncle the news that broke his heart. In those days yet to come, there was one close by to comfort her on such occasions with loving words, and to remind her not to rouse the child who slumbered peacefully in the adjacent cot, and who bore her cousin’s name. Somehow, she managed to accomplish the dreaded task. After the first anguished incredulity, her uncle found much that required an explanation, for he had been entirely ignorant of his son’s activities. Her answers brought added grief, as he realized how far apart their ways had lain through the years since John had lost his mother.

‘Mea culpa,’ he said, in deep sorrow. ‘I should have shared my son’s life, but I left him to manage it alone. The blame is mine, but the punishment is heavy.’

He bent his head for a moment in prayer; then, having flung on some clothes, went downstairs with Mary to join Arkwright.

In the small room at the inn to which the mill-owner presently brought them, John Booth was lying inert on a truckle bed, his face totally drained of colour and his eyes closed. There was an odour of medicaments in the room, heavily overlaid by the stench of blood. A wave of nausea hit Mary’s stomach as she entered; but she fought it down, advancing to the bed alongside her uncle.

‘I’ll do my best to see that you’re left alone with him,’ said Arkwright, placing chairs for them at the bedside. ‘But he’s under arrest, of course, and the Colonel keeps trying to get out of him the names of those who were with him in the attack — so far, without success.’

‘How can he?’ asked Mary, with tearful indignation. ‘How can he bring himself to pester a dying man?’

He looked at her compassionately. ‘I’ll try my best to prevent any more of it. But you must realize how it is — Colonel Grey’s in command, here.’

He left them. They sat there in silence for some time, watching the white face with its deep lines of suffering, listening to the laboured breathing.

At last, John opened his eyes, and stared at them for a moment without recognition. Then he looked straight at his father with awareness, and spoke in a faint, breathless voice that — strangely — never once held any suggestion of a stutter.

‘Father.’ He put out his hand, and the Vicar clasped it firmly between his own trembling fingers. ‘Can you — forgive — me?’

‘It is I who need forgiveness, my son. How could I have neglected you so — failed to gain your confidence? I have not done my duty as a parent.’

‘They’re too close, father — parents and children — too close, yet too far apart — ’

The old man shook his head, unable to speak.

‘Don’t grieve, father. There must be — some purpose — ’

His voice tailed away, and for several moments he said nothing more. Then he looked at Mary.

‘Sam Hartley, too — they’ve got him in the next room — he’ll — he’ll not last long — ’ He took a deep, gasping breath, and continued, ‘You’ll not forget his children? And — Arkwright’ — his eyes watched her face as though he would penetrate her thoughts — ‘don’t let — this — stand between you, Mary. I know you — love him — he — did the best he could — for me — even getting Colonel Grey — to let you both come — ’

‘Don’t try to talk any more, love,’ said Mary, gently. ‘Save your strength. I’ll see that Sam’s children are all right — don’t worry about anything, just now.’

He managed a brief, twisted smile. ‘Remember — the meadow where we played — when we were children? One day, early — the sun was just rising — a lark sang — ’

She bent her head to hide the swift rush of tears. Just then, the door opened, and Colonel Grey came abruptly into the room, with Arkwright hard on his heels, looking like thunder.

‘Ah, he seems to be talking now, right enough,’ said the Colonel, by way of greeting. ‘Well, Booth, do you mean to tell me who was with you in the raid? It will ease your conscience, y’ know — I’m sure you’ll bear me out there, Vicar?’

John’s father turned a look of reproachful misery on the Colonel. ‘Let my son die in peace, sir.’

John spoke up from the bed, faintly but audibly. ‘Can you — keep a secret, Colonel?’

Colonel Grey assented eagerly, and drew nearer to the bed in case he should miss what followed.

John raised himself a little way on one elbow, and spoke in a stronger voice than he had so far used. ‘Well, so can I.’

He relapsed exhausted on the pillow; his lips were blue, but they moved for a moment. Colonel Grey turned away angrily, but Mary and her uncle bent forward to catch the faint words.

‘I can still hear the lark singing — ’

The voice stopped abruptly. His head lolled sideways, like a broken doll’s; a lock of fair hair fell across his brow.

The Vicar bent forward to kiss the lifeless face, and gently close the staring eyes. Then he dropped to his knees, to pray for the boy whose only crime had been a deep concern in the welfare of others.

*

They buried Sam Hartley at Halifax on the following Wednesday. Much to the surprise and concern of the authorities, a great concourse of people attended the funeral. Ugly rumours ran round the crowd; it was whispered that the two men had been tortured at Robertown in an abortive attempt to force them to betray their companions in the attack. Soldiers rode up and down to see that order was maintained, but there were no incidents.

It was clear, however, that hundreds of people could be expected again at John Booth’s funeral, which was due to take place the next day. To avoid the undesirable publicity, with its attendant risks, the authorities insisted that the time of the funeral should be changed. Accordingly, it was held at first light: apart from John’s own household and the military, only Arkwright and Nick Bradley stood bareheaded at the graveside.

‘There’s summat I must tell thee, Maister,’ said Nick, as they walked together through the dewy grass to the churchyard. ‘I can’t keep it no longer to mysen, though happen tha’lt turn me off when tha knows all. I did it for t’ poor lad’s sake, but t’ weren’t no manner o’ good, for he’s dead now, just t’ same.’

‘What are you speaking of?’ asked Arkwright, coming out of his gloomy abstraction. ‘What did you do?’

Somewhat shamefacedly, Nick explained how he had gone to the Vicarage to try and prevent John from attending the meeting at the St. Crispin, and what had followed when he had told Mary of the impending raid on the inn.

‘I know what tha’s thinking,’ concluded Nick. ‘And happen I’d think same, in thy place. But yon poor lass had enough to bear, then, wi’out finding her cousin in trouble, too. But if tha feels, Maister Will’ — his voice shook a little — ‘that tha’s no use for a man who’d turn traitor after all these years, well — ’

‘So that’s what happened,’ said Arkwright. ‘I knew there must be somebody; but I never thought of you, of course.’

The overseer winced. ‘Dost want me to go, lad? I don’t blame thee — ’

Arkwright’s mouth twisted as though in pain. ‘No, Nick. I would have saved the boy, too, if I could have done — for his own sake, partly, but much more for her sake. I don’t blame you — who knows? I might have done the same thing, had I been you.’