JOHNNY DARBYSHIRE.
BY WILLIAM HOWITT.
John Darbyshire, or, according to the regular custom of the country,Johnny Darbyshire, was a farmer living in one of the most obscure partsof the country, on the borders of the Peak of Derbyshire. His fathersbefore him had occupied the same farm for generations; and as they hadbeen Quakers from the days of George Fox, who preached there andconverted them, Johnny also was a Quaker. That is, he was, as manyothers were, and no doubt are, habitually a Quaker. He was a Quaker indress, in language, in attendance of their meetings, and, above all, inthe unmitigated contempt which he felt and expressed for everything likefashion, for the practices of the world, for the Church, and for musicand amusements. There never was a man, from the first to the present dayof the society, who so thoroughly embodied and exhibited that qualityattributed to the Quaker, in the rhyming nursery alphabet,--"Q was aQuaker, and would not bow down."
No, Johnny Darbyshire would not have bowed down to any mortal power. Hewould have marched into the presence of the king with his hat on, andwould have addressed him with just the same unembarrassed freedom as"The old chap out of the West Countrie" is made to do in the song. As toany of the more humble and conceding qualities usually attributed to thepeaceful Quaker, Johnny had not an atom of those about him. Never wasthere a more pig-headed, arbitrary, positive, pugnacious fellow. Hewould argue anybody out of their opinions by the hour; he would "threepthem down," as he called it, that is, point blank and with a loud voiceinsist on his own possession of the right, and of the sound common-senseof the matter; and if he could not convince them, would at leastconfound them with his obstreperous din and violence of action. That waswhat he called clearing the field, and not leaving his antagonist a legto stand on. Having thus fairly overwhelmed, dumfoundered, and tired outsome one with his noise, he would go off in triumph, and say to thebystanders as he went, "There, lads, you see he hadn't a word to say forhimself"; and truly a clever fellow must he have been who could have gota word in edgeways when Johnny had once fairly got his steam up, and wasshrinking and storming like a cat-o'-mountain.
Yet had anybody told Johnny that he was no Quaker, he would have"threeped them down" that they did not know what a Quaker meant. What!were not his father, and his grandfather, and his great-grandfatherbefore him all Quakers? Was not he born in the Society, brought up init? Hadn't he attended first-day, week-day, preparative, monthly,quarterly, and sometimes yearly meetings too, all his life? Had not heregularly and handsomely subscribed to the monthly, and the national,and the Ackworth School Stocks? Had he not been on all sorts ofappointments; to visit new members, new comers into the meeting; to warndisorderly walkers; nay, had he not sate even on committees in London atyearly meetings? Had he not received and travelled with ministers whenthey came on religious visits into these parts? Had he not taken them inhis tax-cart to the next place, and been once upset in a deep and dirtylane with a weighty ministering friend, and dislocated his collar-bone?
What? He not a Quaker! Was George Fox one, did they think; or WilliamPenn, or Robert Barclay, indeed?
Johnny Darbyshire _was_ a Quaker. He had the dress, and address, and allthe outward testimonies and marks of a Quaker; nay, he was more; he wasan overseer of the meeting, and broke up the meetings. Yes, and he wouldhave them to know that he executed his office well. Ay, well indeed;without clock to look at, or without pulling out his watch, or beingwithin hearing of any bell, or any other thing that could guide him, hewould sit on the front seat of his meeting where not a word was spoken,exactly for an hour and three quarters to a minute, and then break it upby shaking hands with the Friend who sate next to him. Was not that anevidence of a religious tact and practice? And had not the Friends oncewhen he was away, just like people in a ship which had lost both rudderand compass, gone drifting in unconsciousness from ten in the morningtill three in the afternoon, and would not then have known that it wastime to break up the meeting, but that somebody's servant was sent tosee what had happened, and why they did not come home to dinner?
Johnny could see a sleeper as soon as any, were he ensconced in theremotest and obscurest corner of the meeting, and let him hold up hishead and sleep as cleverly as he might from long habit. And did not heonce give a most notable piece of advice to a _rich_ Friend who was ashocking sleeper? Was not this Friend very ill, and didn't Johnny go tosee him; and didn't he, when the Friend complained that he could get nosleep, and that not all the physic, the strongest opium even of thedoctor's shop, could make him,--didn't Johnny Darbyshire say rightslap-bang out, which not another of the plainest-spoken Friends darehave done to a rich man like that,--"Stuff and nonsense; and a fig foropium and doctor's stuff,--send, man, send for the meeting-house bench,and lie thee down on that, and I'll be bound thou'lt sleep like one ofthe seven sleepers."
Undoubtedly Johnny was a Quaker; a right slap-dash Quaker of the oldFoxite school; and had anybody come smiling to him in the hope ofgetting anything out of him, he would have said to him as George Foxsaid to Colonel Hackett, "Beware of hypocrisy and a rotten heart!" True,had you questioned him as to his particular religious doctrines orarticles of faith, he would not have been very clear, or very ready togive you any explanation at all, for the very best of reasons,--he wasnot so superstitious as to have a creed. A creed! that was a rag of theold woman of Babylon. No, if you wanted to know all about doctrines anddisputations, why, you might look into Barclay's Apology. There was abook big enough for you, he should think. For himself, like most of hiscloth, he would confine himself to his _feelings_. He would employ avariety of choice and unique phrases; such as, "If a man want to knowwhat religion is, he must not go running after parsons, and bishops, andall that sort of man-made ministers, blind leaders of the blind, who cantalk by the hour, but about what neither man, woman, nor child, for thelife of them, can tell, except when they come for their tithes, or theirEaster dues, and then they speak plain enough with a vengeance. One ofthese Common-Prayer priests," said he, "once came to advise me about thelawfulness of paying Church-rates, and, instead of walking into myparlor, he walked through the next door, and nearly broke his neck, intothe cellar. A terrible stramash of a lumber, and a plunging and agroaning we heard somewhere; and rushing out, lo and behold! it was noother than Diggory Dyson, the parish priest, who had gone headlong tothe bottom of the cellar steps, and had he not cut his temples againstthe brass tap of a beer-barrel and bled freely, he might have died onthe spot. And that was a man set up to guide the multitude! Had he beenonly led and guided by the Spirit of God, as a true minister should be,he would never have gone neck-foremost down my cellar steps. That's yourblind leader of the blind!"
But if Johnny Darbyshire thought the "Common-Prayer priests" obscure,they must have thought him sevenfold so. Instead of doctrines and suchpagan things, he talked solemnly of "centring down"; "being renewedlymade sensible"; "having his mind drawn to this and that thing"; "feelinghimself dipped into deep baptism"; "feeling a sense of duty"; and of"seeing, or not seeing his way clear" into this or that matter. But hismaster phrase was "living near to the truth"; and often, when otherpeople thought him particularly provoking and insulting, it was only"because he hated a lie and the father of lies." Johnny thought that helived so near to the truth, that you would have thought Truth was hisnext-door neighbor, or his lodger, and not living down at the bottom ofher well as she long has been.
Truly was that religious world in which Johnny Darbyshire lived a mostsingular one. In that part of the country, George Fox had beenparticularly zealous and well received. A simple country people was justthe people to be affected by his warm eloquence and strong manly sense.He settled many meetings there, which, however, William Penn may be saidto have unsettled by his planting of Pennsylvania. These Friends flockedover thither with, or after him, and left a mere remnant behind them.This remnant--and it was like the remnant in a draper's shop, a veryold-fashioned one--continued still to keep up their meetings, and carryon their affairs as steadily and gravely as Fox and his contemporar
iesdid, if not so extensively and successfully. They had a meeting atCodnor Breach, at Monny-Ash in the Peak, at Pentridge, at Toad-holeFurnace, at Chesterfield, etc. Most of these places were thoroughlycountry places, some of them standing nearly alone in the distantfields; and the few members belonging to them might be seen on Sundays,mounted on strong horses, a man and his wife often on one, on saddle andpillion, or in strong tax-carts; and others, generally the young,proceeding on foot over fields and through woods, to these meetings.They were truly an old-world race, clad in very old-world garments.Arrived at their meeting, they sate generally an hour and three quartersin profound silence, for none of them had a minister in them, and thenreturned again. In winter they generally had a good fire in a chamber,and sate comfortably round it.
Once a month, they jogged off in similar style to one of these meetingsin particular, to what they called their monthly meeting, where theypaid in their subscriptions for the poor, and other needs of thesociety, and read over and made answers to a set of queries on the moraland religious state of their meetings. One would have thought that thisbusiness must be so very small that it would be readily despatched; butnot so. Small enough, Heaven knows! it was; but then they made areligious duty of its transaction, and went through it as solemnly anddeliberately as if the very salvation of the kingdom depended on it. O,what a mighty balancing of straws was there! In answering the query,whether their meetings were pretty regularly kept up and attended,though perhaps there was but half a dozen members to one meeting, yetwould it be weighed and weighed again whether the phrase should be, thatit was "pretty well attended," or "indifferently attended," or"attended, with some exceptions." This stupendous business having,however, at length been got through, then all the men adjourned to theroom where the women had, for the time, been just as laboriously andgravely engaged; and a table was soon spread by a person agreed with,with a good substantial dinner of roast-beef and plum-pudding; and thegood people grew right sociable, chatty, and even merry in their way;while, all the time in the adjoining stable, or, as in one case, in thestable under them, their steeds, often rough, wild creatures, thrustperhaps twenty into a stable without dividing stalls, were kicking,squealing, and rioting in a manner that obliged some of the good peopleoccasionally to rise from their dinners, and endeavor to diffuse alittle of their own quietness among them. Or in summer their horseswould be all loose in the graveyard before the meeting, rearing,kicking, and screaming in a most furious manner; which, however, onlyrarely seemed to disturb the meditations of their masters andmistresses.
And to these monthly meetings over what long and dreary roads, on whatdreadfully wet and wintry days, through what mud and water, did thesesimple and pious creatures, wrapped in great-coats and thick cloaks, anddefended with oil-skin hoods, travel all their lives long? Not a soulwas more punctual in attendance than Johnny Darbyshire. He was a littleman, wearing a Quaker suit of drab, his coat long, his hat not cockedbut slouched, and his boots well worn and well greased.
Peaceful as he sate in these meetings, yet out of them, as I haveremarked, he was a very Tartar, and he often set himself to execute whathe deemed justice in a very dogged and original style. We may, as aspecimen, take this instance. On his way to his regular meeting he hadto pass through a toll-bar; and being on Sundays exempt by law frompaying at it, it may be supposed that the bar-keeper did not fling openthe gate often with the best grace. One Sunday evening, however, JohnnyDarbyshire had, from some cause or other, stayed late with his friendsafter afternoon meeting. When he passed through the toll-gate he gavehis usual nod to the keeper, and was passing on; but the man called outto demand the toll, declaring that it was no longer Sunday night, butMonday morning, being past twelve o'clock.
"Nay, friend, thou art wrong," said Johnny, pulling out his watch: "see,it yet wants a quarter."
"No, I tell you," replied the keeper, gruffly, "it is past twelve. Look,there is my clock."
"Ay, friend, but thy clock, like thyself, doesn't speak the truth. Likeits master, it is a little too hasty. I assure thee my watch is right,for I just now compared it by the steeple-house clock in the town."
"I tell you," replied the keeper, angrily, "I've nothing to do with yourwatch; I go by my clock, and there it is."
"Well, I think thou art too exact with me, my friend."
"Will you pay me or not?" roared the keeper; "you go through oftenenough in the devil's name without paying."
"Gently, gently, my friend," replied Johnny; "there is the money: andit's really after twelve o'clock, thou says?"
"To be sure."
"Well, very well; then, for the next twenty-four hours I can go throughagain without paying?"
"To be sure; everybody knows that."
"Very well, then I now bid thee farewell." And with that, JohnnyDarbyshire jogged on. The gatekeeper, chuckling at having at lastextorted a double toll from the shrewd Quaker, went to bed, not on thatquiet road expecting further disturbance till towards daylight; but,just as he was about to pop into bed, he heard some one ride up and cry,"Gate!"
Internally cursing the late traveller, he threw on his things anddescended to open the gate, when he was astonished to see the Quakerreturned.
"Thou says it really _is_ past twelve, friend?"
"To be sure."
"Then open the gate: I have occasion to ride back again."
The gate flew open, Johnny Darbyshire trotted back towards the town, andthe man, with double curses in his mind, returned up stairs. This timehe was not so sure of exemption from interruption, for he expected theQuaker would in a while be coming back homewards again. And he was quiteright. Just as he was about to put out his candle, there was a cry of"Gate." He descended, and behold the Quaker once more presented himself.
"It really _is_ past twelve, thou says?"
"Umph!" grunted the fellow.
"Then, of course, I have nothing more to pay. I would not, however,advise thee to go to bed to-night, for it is so particularly fine thatI propose to enjoy it by riding to and fro here a few hours."
The fellow, who now saw Johnny Darbyshire's full drift, exclaimed,"Here, for God's sake, sir, take your money back, and let me get a winkof sleep."
But Johnny refused to receive the money, observing, "If it _was_ aftertwelve, then the money is justly thine; but I advise thee another timenot to be _too_ exact." And with that he rode off.
Such was his shrewd, restless, domineering character, that his oldfriend, the neighboring miller, a shrewd fellow too, thought there mustbe something in Quakerism which contributed to this, and was thereforeanxious to attend their meetings, and see what it was. How great,however, was his astonishment, on accompanying Johnny, to find abouthalf a dozen people all sitting with their hats on for a couple of hoursin profound silence; except a few shufflings of feet, and blowing ofnoses; and then all start up, shake hands, and hurry off.
"Why, Master Darbyshire," said the dry old miller, "how is this? Do yousit without parson or clerk, and expect to learn religion by looking atyour shoe-toes? By Leddy! this warn't th' way George Fox went on. He wasa very talking man, or he would na ha' got such a heap of folkstogether, as he did. You've clearly gotten o' th' wrong side o' th'post, Johnny, depend on't; an' I dunna wonder now that you've dwindledawee so."
But if Johnny was as still as a fish at the Quaker meetings, he hadenough to say at home, and at the parish meetings. He had such a spiceof the tyrant in him, that he could not even entertain the idea ofmarrying, without it must be a sort of shift for the mastery. He,therefore, not only cast his eye on one of the most high-spirited womenthat he knew in his own society, but actually one on the largest scaleof physical dimensions. If he had one hero of his admiration more thananother, it was a little dwarf at Mansfield, who used to wear asoldier's jacket, and who had taken it into his head to marry a verytall woman, whom he had reduced to such perfect subjection, that he usedfrom time to time to evince his mastery by mounting a round table andmaking the wife walk round it while he belabored her lustily with astra
p.
Johnny, having taken his resolve, made no circumbendibus in hisaddresses; but one day, as he was alone in the company of the lady, byname Lizzy Lorimer,--"Lizzy," said he, "I'll tell thee what I have beenthinking about. I think thou'd make me a very good wife."
"Well," replied Lizzy; "sure, isn't that extraordinary? I was justthinking the very same thing."
"That's right! Well done, my wench,--now that's what I call hitting thenail on the head, like a right sensible woman!" cried Johnny, fetchingher a slap on the shoulder, and laughing heartily. "That's doing thething now to some tune. I'm for none of your dilly-dally ways. I onceknew a young fellow that was desperately smitten by a young woman, andthough he could pluck up courage enough to go and see her, he couldn'tsummon courage enough to speak out his mind when he got there; and so heand the damsel sate opposite one another before the fire. She knew wellenough all the while--you're sharp enough, you women--what he wasafter; and there they sate and sate, and at last he picked up a cinderoff the hearth, and looking very foolish, said, 'I've a good mind tofling a cowk at thee!' At which the brave wench, in great contempt,cried, 'I'll soon fling one at thee, if thou artn't off!' That's just asthou'd ha' done, Lizzy, and as I shouldn't," said Johnny, gayly, andlaughing more heartily than before.
That was the sum and substance of Johnny Darbyshire's courtship. All theworld said the trouble would come afterwards; but if it did come, it wasnot to Johnny. Never was chanticleer so crouse on his own dung-hill, asJohnny Darbyshire was in his own house. He was lord and master there toa certainty. In doors and out, he shouted, hurried, ran to and fro, andmade men, maids, and Lizzy herself, fly at his approach, as if he hadgot a whole cargo of Mercury's wings, and put them on their feet. It wasthe same in parish affairs; and the fame of Johnny's eloquence atvestries is loud to this day. On one occasion there was a most hotdebate on the voting of a church-rate, which should embrace a newpulpit. Johnny had hurt his foot with a stub of wood as he was hurryingon his men at work in thinning a plantation. It had festered andinflamed his leg to a terrible size; but, spite of that, he ordered outhis cart with a bed laid in it, and came up to the door of thevestry-room, where he caused himself to be carried in on the bed, andset on the vestry-room floor, not very distant from the clergyman. Herehe waited, listening first to one speaker and then another, till thedebate had grown very loud, when he gave a great hem; and all weresilent, for every one knew that Johnny was going to speak.
"Now, I'll tell you what, lads," said Johnny; "you've made noise enoughto frighten all the jackdaws out of the steeple, and there they areflying all about with a pretty cawarring. You've spun a yarn as long asall the posts and rails round my seven acres, and I dunna see as you'veyet hedged in so much as th' owd wise men o' Gotham did, and that's acuckoo. I've heard just one sensible word, and that was to recommend acast-iron pulpit, in preference to a wooden 'un. As to a church-rate torepair th' owd steeple-house, why, my advice is to pull th' owd thingdown, stick and stone, and mend your roads with it. It's a capital heapo' stone in it, that one must allow,--and your roads are pestilent bad.Down with the old daw-house, I say, and mend th' roads wi' 't, and setth' parson here up for a guide-post. Oh! it's a rare 'un he'd make; forhe's always pointing th' way to the folks, but I never see that he movesone inch himself."
"Mr. Darbyshire," exclaimed the clergyman, in high resentment, "that isvery uncivil in my presence, to say the least of it."
"Civil or uncivil," returned Johnny; "it's the truth, lad, and thou cantake it just as thou likes. I did not come here to bandy compliments; soI may as well be hanged for an old sheep as for a lamb,--we'll not maketwo mouthfuls of a cherry; my advice is then to have a cast-iron pulpit,by all means, and while you are about it, a cast-iron parson, too. Itwill do just as well as our neighbor Diggory Dyson here, and a plaguydeal cheaper, for it will require neither tithes, glebe, Easter-dues,nor church-rates!"
Having delivered himself of this remarkable oration, to the greatamusement of his fellow-parishioners, and the equal exasperation of theclergyman, Johnny ordered himself to be again hoisted into his cart, androde home in great glory, boasting that he had knocked all the wind outof the parson, and if he got enough again to preach his sermon onSunday, it would be all.
It was only on such occasions as these that Johnny Darbyshire everappeared under the church roof. Once, on the occasion of the funeral ofan old neighbor, which, for a wonder, he attended, he presented himselfthere, but with as little satisfaction to the clergyman, and less tohimself.
He just marched into the church with his hat on, which, being removed bythe clergyman's orders, Johnny declared that he had a good mind to walkout of that well of a place, and would do so only out of respect to hisold neighbor. With looks of great wrath he seated himself at a gooddistance from the clergyman; and as this gentleman was proceeding, innone of the clearest tones, certainly, to read the appropriate service,Johnny suddenly shouted out, "Speak up, man, speak up! What art mumblingat there, man? We canna hear what thou says here!"
"Who is that?" demanded the clergyman, solemnly, and looking much as ifhe did not clearly perceive who it was. "Who is that who interrupts theservice? I will not proceed till he be removed."
The beadle approached Johnny, and begged that he would withdraw.
"Oh!" said Johnny, aloud, so as to be heard through all the church,"I'll sit i' th' porch. I'd much rather. What's the use sitting herewhere one can hear nothing but a buzzing like a bee in a blossom?"
Johnny accordingly withdrew to the porch, where some of his neighbors,hurrying to him when the funeral was about to proceed from the church tothe grave, said, "Mr. Darbyshire, what have you done? You'll as surelybe put into th' spiritual court, as you're a living man. You'd better axthe parson's pardon, and as soon as you can."
Accordingly, as soon as the funeral was over, and the clergyman wasabout to withdraw, up marched Johnny to him, and said, "What, I reckonI've affronted thee with bidding thee speak up. But thou _should_ speakup, man; thou should speak up, or what art perched up aloft there for.But, however, as you scollards are rayther testy, I know, in being takenup before folks, I mun beg thy pardon for 't'arno."[C]
[C] For what I know.
"O, Mr. Darbyshire," said the clergyman, with much dignity, "that willnot do, I assure you. I cannot pass over such conduct in such a manner.I shall take another course with you."
"O, just as tha' woot. I've axed thy pardon, haven't I? and if thatwunna do, why, thou mun please thysen!"
Johnny actually appeared very likely to get a proper castigation thistime; but, however it was, he certainly escaped. The parishionersadvised the clergyman to take no notice of the offence,--everybody,they said, knew Johnny, and if he called him into the spiritual court,he would be just as bold and saucy, and might raise a good deal ofpublic scandal. The clergyman, who, unfortunately, was but like too manycountry clergymen of the time, addicted to a merry glass in the villagepublic-house, thought perhaps that this was only too likely, and so thematter dropped.
For twenty years did Johnny Darbyshire thus give free scope to tongueand hand in his parish. He ruled paramount over wife, children, house,servants, parish, and everybody. He made work go on like the flyingclouds of March; and at fair and market, at meeting and vestry, he hadhis fling and his banter at the expense of his neighbors, as if theworld was all his own, and would never come to an end. But now came anevent, arising, as so often is the case, out of the merest trifle, thatmore than all exhibited the indomitable stiffness and obstinacy of hischaracter.
Johnny Darbyshire had some fine, rich meadow-land, on the banks of theriver Derwent, where he took in cattle and horses to graze during thesummer. Hither a gentleman had sent a favorite and valuable blood mareto run a few months with her foal. He had stipulated that the greatestcare should be taken of both mare and foal, and that no one, on anypretence whatever, should mount the former. All this Johnny Darbyshirehad most fully promised. "Nay, he was as fond of a good bit ofhorse-flesh as any man alive, and he would use mare and fo
al just as ifthey were his own."
This assurance, which sounded very well indeed, was kept by Johnny, asit proved, much more to the letter than the gentleman intended. To hisgreat astonishment, it was not long before he one day saw JohnnyDarbyshire come riding on a little shaggy horse down the village wherehe lived, leading the foal in a halter.
He hurried out to inquire the cause of this, too well auguring some sadmischief, when Johnny, shaking his head, said, "Ill luck, my friend,never comes alone; it's an old saying, that it never rains but it pours;and so it's been with me. T' other day I'd a son drowned, as fine a ladas ever walked in shoe-leather; and in hurrying to th' doctor, howshould luck have it, but down comes th' mare with her foot in a hole,breaks her leg, and was obligated to be killed; and here's th' poorinnocent foal. It's a bad job, a very bad job; but I've the worst on't,and it canna be helped; so, prithee, say as little as thou can aboutit,--here's the foal, poor, dumb thing, at all events."
"But what business," cried the gentleman, enraged, and caring, in hiswrath, not a button for Johnny Darbyshire's drowned son, in theexasperation of his own loss,--"but what business had you riding to thedoctor, or the devil, on my mare? Did not I enjoin you, did you notsolemnly promise me, that nobody should cross the mare's back?"
Johnny shook his head. He had indeed promised "to use her as his own,"and he had done it to some purpose; but that was little likely to throwcold water on the gentleman's fire. It was in vain that Johnny tried thepathetic of the drowning boy; it was lost on the man who had lost hisfavorite mare, and who declared that he would rather have lost athousand pounds,--a hundred was exactly her value,--and he vowed allsorts of vengeance and of law.
And he kept his word too. Johnny was deaf to paying for the mare. He hadlost his boy, and his summer's run of the mare and foal, and that hethought enough for a poor man like him, as he pleased to call himself.An action was commenced against him, of which he took not the slightestnotice till it came into court. These lawyers, he said, were dear chaps,he'd have nothing to do with them. But the lawyers were determined tohave to do with him, for they imagined that the Quaker had a deep purse,and they longed to be poking their long, jewelled fingers to the bottomof it.
The cause actually came into court at the assizes, and the counsel forthe plaintiff got up and stated the case, offering to call his evidence,but first submitted that he could not find that any one was retained onbehalf of the defendant, and that, therefore, he probably meant tosuffer the cause to go by default. The court inquired whether anycounsel at the bar was instructed to appear for Darbyshire, in the caseShiffnal _v._ Darbyshire, but there was no reply; and learned gentlemenlooked at one another, and all shook their learned wigs; and the judgewas about to declare that the cause was forfeited by the defendant, JohnDarbyshire, by non-appearance at the place of trial, when there was seena bustle near the box of the clerk of the court; there was a hastyplucking off of a large hat, which somebody had apparently walked intocourt with on; and the moment afterwards a short man, in a Quaker dress,with his grizzled hair hanging in long locks on his shoulders, andsmoothed close down on the forehead, stepped, with a peculiar air ofconfidence and cunning, up to the bar. His tawny, sunburnt features, andsmall dark eyes, twinkling with an expression of much country subtlety,proclaimed him at once a character. At once a score of voicesmurmured,--"There's Johnny Darbyshire himself!"
He glanced, with a quick and peculiar look, at the counsel, sitting attheir table with their papers before them, who, on their part, did notfail to return his survey with a stare of mixed wonder and amazement.You could see it as plainly as possible written on their faces,--"Whohave we got here? There is some fun brewing here, to a certainty."
But Johnny raised his eyes from them to the bench, where sat the judge,and sent them rapidly thence to the jury-box, where they seemed to restwith a considerable satisfaction.
"Is this a witness?" inquired the judge. "If so, what is he doing there,or why does he appear at all, till we know whether the cause is to bedefended?"
"Ay, Lord Judge, as they call thee, I reckon I am a witness, and thebest witness too, that can be had in the case, for I'm the man himself;I'm John Darbyshire. I didn't mean to have anything to do with thesechaps i' their wigs and gowns, with their long, dangling sleeves; and Idunna yet mean to have anything to do wi' 'em. But I just heard one of'em tell thee, that this cause was not going to be defended; and thatput my monkey up, and so, thinks I, I'll e'en up and tell 'em that itwill be defended though; ay, and I reckon it will too; JohnnyDarbyshire was never yet afraid of the face of any man, or any set ofmen."
"If you are what you say, good man," said the judge, "defendant in thiscase, you had better appoint counsel to state it for you."
"Nay, nay, Lord Judge, as they call thee,--hold a bit; I know betterthan that. Catch Johnny Darbyshire at flinging his money into a lawyer'sbag! No, no. I know them chaps wi' wigs well enough. They've tongues aslong as a besom's teal, and fingers as long to poke after 'em. Nay, nay,I don't get my money so easily as to let them scrape it up by armfuls.I've worked early and late, in heat and cold, for my bit o' money, andlong enough too, before these smart chaps had left their mother'sapron-strings; and let them catch a coin of it, if they can. No! I knowthis case better than any other man can, and for why? Because I was init. It was me that had the mare to summer; it was me that rode her tothe doctor; I was in at th' breaking of th' leg, and, for that reason, Ican tell you exactly how it all happened. And what's any of thosecounsellors,--sharp, and fine, and knowing as they look, with theirtails and their powder,--what are they to know about the matter, exceptwhat somebody'd have to tell 'em first? I tell you, I saw it, I did it,and so there needs no twice telling of the story."
"But are you going to produce evidence?" inquired the counsel for theother side.
"Evidence? to be sure I am. What does the chap mean? Evidence? why, I'mdefender and evidence and all!"
There was a good deal of merriment in the court, and at the bar, inwhich the judge himself joined.
"There wants no evidence besides me; for, as I tell you, I did it, andI'm not going to deny it."
"Stop!" cried the judge; "this is singular. If Mr. Darbyshire means toplead his own cause, and to include in it his evidence, he must besworn. Let the oath be administered to him."
"Nay, I reckon thou need put none of thy oaths to me! My father neverbrought me up to cursing and swearing, and such like wickedness. He leftthat to th' ragamuffins and rapscallions i' th' street. I'm no swearer,nor liar neither,--thou may take my word safe enough."
"Let him take his affirmation, if he be a member of the Society ofFriends."
"Ay, now thou speaks sense, Lord Judge. Ay, I'm a member, I warrant me."
The clerk of the court here took his affirmation, and then Johnnyproceeded.
"Well, I don't feel myself any better or any honester now for makingthat affirmation. I was just going to tell the plain truth before, and Ican only tell th' same now. And, as I said, I'm not going to deny whatI've done. No! Johnny Darbyshire's not the man that ever did a thing andthen denied it. Can any of these chaps i' th' wigs say as much? Ay, nowI reckon," added he, shaking his head archly at the gentlemen of thebar, "now I reckon you'd like, a good many on you there, to be denyingthis thing stoutly for me? You'd soon persuade a good many simple folkshere that I never did ride the mare, never broke her leg, nay, neversaw her that day at all. Wouldn't you, now? wouldn't you?"--
Here the laughter, on all sides, was loudly renewed.
"But I'll take precious good care ye _dunna_! No, no! that's the verything that I've stepped up here for. It's to keep your consciences clearof a few more additional lies. O dear! I'm quite grieved for you, when Ithink what falsities and deceit you'll one day have to answer for, as itis."
The gentlemen, thus complimented, appeared to enjoy the satire of JohnnyDarbyshire; and still more was it relished in the body of the court.
But again remarked the judge, "Mr. Darbyshire, I advise you to leave thecounsel for the
plaintiff to prove his case against you."
"I'st niver oss!" exclaimed Johnny, with indignation.
"I'st niver oss!" repeated the judge. "What does he mean?--I don'tunderstand him." And he looked inquiringly at the bar.
"He means," my lord, said a young counsel, "that he shall neveroffer,--never attempt to do so."
"That's a Darbyshire chap now," said Johnny, turning confidentiallytowards the jury-box, where he saw some of his county farmers. "Heunderstands good English."
"But, good neighbors there," added he, addressing the jury, "for Ireckon it's you that I must talk to on this business; I'm glad to seethat you are, a good many on you, farmers like myself, and so up tothese things. To make a short matter of it, then,--I had the mare andfoal to summer; and the gentleman laid it down, strong and fast, thatshe shouldn't be ridden by anybody. And I promised him that I would domy best, that nobody should ride her. I told him that I would use herjust as if she was my own,--and I meant it. I meant to do the handsomeby her and her master too; for I needn't tell you that I'm too fond of abit of good blood to see it willingly come to any harm. Nay, nay, thatnever was the way of Johnny Darbyshire. And there she was, the prettycreature, with her handsome foal cantering and capering round her in themeadow; it was a pleasure to see it, it was indeed! And often have Istood and leaned over the gate and watched them, till I felt a'most asfond of them as of my own children; and never would leg have crossed herwhile she was in my possession had that not happened that may happen toany man, when he least expects it.
"My wife had been ill, very ill. My poor Lizzy, I thought I should ha'certainly lost her. The doctors said she must be kept quiet in bed; ifshe stirred for five days she was a lost woman. Well, one afternoon as Iwas cutting a bit o' grass at th' bottom o' th' orchard for the osses,again they came from ploughing the fallows, I heard a shriek that wentthrough me like a baggonet. Down I flings th' scythe. 'That's Lizzy, andno other!' I shouted to myself. 'She's out of bed,--and, goodness! whatcan it be? She's ten to one gone mad with a brain fever!' There seemedto have fallen ten thousand millstones on my heart. I tried to run, butI couldn't. I was as cold as ice. I was as fast rooted to the ground asa tree. There was another shriek more piercing than before--and I wasoff like an arrow from a bow--I was loose then. I was all on fire. I ranlike a madman till I came within sight of th' house; and there I sawLizzy in her nightgown with half her body out of the window, shriekingand wringing her hands like any crazed body.
"'Stop! stop!' I cried, 'Lizzy! Lizzy! back! back! for Heaven's sake!'
"'There! there!' screamed she, pointing with staring eyes and ghastlyface down into the Darrant that runs under the windows.
"'O God!' I exclaimed, 'she'll drown herself! she's crazed, she means tofling herself in'--groaning as I ran, and trying to keep crying to her,but my voice was dead in my throat.
"When I reached her chamber, I found her fallen on the floor,--she wasas white as a ghost, and sure enough I thought she was one. I lifted herupon the bed, and screamed amain for the nurse, for the maid, but not asoul came. I rubbed Lizzy's hands; clapped them; tried hersmelling-bottle. At length she came to herself with a dreadfulgroan,--flashed open her eyes wide on me, and cried, 'Didst see him?Didst save him? Where is he? Where is he?'
"'Merciful Providence!' I exclaimed. 'She's gone only too sure! It's allover with her!'
"'Where is he? Where's my dear Sam? Thou didn't let him drown?'
"'Drown? Sam? What?' I cried. 'What dost mean, Lizzy?'
"'O John! Sammy!--he was drowning i' th' Darrant--oh!--'
"She fainted away again, and a dreadful truth flashed on my mind. Shehad seen our little Sammy drowning; she had heard his screams, andsprung out of bed, forgetful of herself, and looking out, saw ourprecious boy in the water. He was sinking! He cried for help! there wasnobody near, and there Lizzy stood and saw him going, going, going down!There was not a soul in the house. The maid was gone to see her motherthat was dying in the next village; the nurse had been suddenly obligedto run off to the doctor's for some physic; Lizzy had promised to liestill till I came in, and in the mean time--this happens. When Iunderstood her I flew down stairs, and towards the part of the river shehad pointed to. I gazed here and there, and at length caught sight ofthe poor boy's coat floating, and with a rake I caught hold of it, anddragged him to land. But it was too late! Frantic, however, as I was, Iflew down to the meadow with a bridle in my hand, mounted the bloodmare,--she was the fleetest in the field by half,--and away to thedoctor. We went like the wind. I took a short cut for better speed, butit was a hobbly road. Just as I came in sight of the doctor's housethere was a slough that had been mended with stones and fagots andanything that came to hand. I pushed her over, but her foot caught in ahole amongst the sticks, and--crack! it was over in a moment.
"Neighbors, neighbors! think of my situation. Think of my feelings. Oh!I was all one great groan! My wife! my boy! the mare! it seemed as ifJob's devil was really sent out against me. But there was no time tothink; I could only feel, and I could do that running. I sprang over thehedge. I was across the fields, and at the doctor's; ay, long before Icould find breath to tell him what was amiss. But he thought it was mywife that was dreadfully worse. 'I expected as much,' said he, and thatinstant we were in the gig that stood at the door, and we were goinglike fire back again. But--"
Here Johnny Darbyshire paused; the words stuck in his throat,--his lipstrembled,--his face gradually grew pale and livid, as if he were goingto give up the ghost. The court was extremely moved: there was a deepsilence, and there were heard sobs from the throng behind. The judgesate with his eyes fixed on his book of minutes, and not a voice evensaid "Go on."
Johnny Darbyshire meantime, overcome by his feelings, had sate down atthe bar, a glass of water was handed to him,--he wiped his forehead withhis handkerchief several times, heaved a heavy convulsive sigh or twofrom his laboring chest,--and again arose.
"Judge, then," said he, again addressing the jury, "what a taking I wasin. My boy--but no--I canna touch on that, he was--gone!" said he in ahusky voice that seemed to require all his physical force to send itfrom the bottom of his chest. "My wife was for weeks worse than dead,and never has been, and never will be, herself again. When I inquiredafter the mare,--you can guess--when was a broken leg of a horsesuccessfully set again? They had been obliged to kill her!
"Now, neighbors, I deny nothing. I wunna!--but I'll put it to any ofyou, if you were in like case, and a fleet mare stood ready at hand,would you have weighed anything but her speed against a wife and--achild?--No, had she been my own, I should have taken her, and that wasall I had promised! But there, neighbors, you have the wholebusiness,--and so do just as you like,--I leave it wi' you."
Johnny Darbyshire stepped down from the bar, and disappeared in thecrowd. There was a deep silence in the court, and the very jury wereseen dashing some drops from their eyes. They appeared to look up to thejudge as if they were ready to give in at once their verdict, and nobodycould doubt for which party; but at this moment the counsel for theplaintiff arose, and said:--
"Gentlemen of the jury,--you know the old saying--'He that pleads hisown cause has a fool for his client.' We cannot say that the proverb hasheld good in this case. The defendant has proved himself no fool. Neverin my life have I listened to the pleadings of an opponent with deeperanxiety. Nature and the awful chances of life have made the defendant inthis case more than eloquent. For a moment I actually trembled for thecause of my client,--but it was for a moment only. I should have beensomething less than human if I had not, like every person in this court,been strangely affected by the singular appeal of the singular man whohas just addressed you; but I should have been something less than agood lawyer if I did not again revert confidently to those facts whichwere in the possession of my witnesses now waiting to be heard. Had thisbeen the only instance in which the defendant had broken hisengagement, and mounted this mare, I should in my own mind have flungoff all hope of a verdict from you. God and nature would have
been toostrong for me in your hearts; but, fortunately for my client, it is notso. I will show you on the most unquestionable evidence that it was notthe first nor the second time that Mr. Darbyshire had mounted thisprohibited but tempting steed. He had been seen, as one of the witnessesexpresses it, 'frisking about' on this beautiful animal, and asking hisneighbors what they thought of such a bit of blood as that. He had onone occasion been as far as Crich fair with her, and had allowed her tobe cheapened by several dealers as if she were his own, and then proudlyrode off, saying, 'Nay, nay, it was not money that would purchase prettyNancy,' as he called her." Here the counsel called several respectablefarmers who amply corroborated these statements; and he then proceeded."Gentlemen, there I rest my case. You will forget the wife and thechild, and call to mind the 'frisking,' and Crich fair. But to put thematter beyond a doubt we will call the defendant again, and put a fewquestions to him."
The court crier called,--but it was in vain. Johnny Darbyshire was nolonger there. As he had said, "he had left it wi' 'em," and was gone.The weight of evidence prevailed; the jury gave a verdict for theplaintiff,--one hundred pounds.
The verdict was given, but the money was not yet got. When called on forpayment, Johnny Darbyshire took no further notice of the demand than hehad done of the action. An execution was issued against his goods; butwhen it was served, it was found that he had no goods. A brother steppedin with a clear title to all on Johnny's farm by a deed dated six yearsbefore, on plea of moneys advanced, and Johnny stood only as manager.
The plaintiff was so enraged at this barefaced scheme to bar his justclaim, Johnny's bail sureties being found equally unsubstantial, that heresolved to arrest Johnny's person. The officers arrived at Johnny'shouse to serve the writ, and found him sitting at his luncheon alone. Itwas a fine summer's day,--everybody was out in the fields at the hay.Door and window stood open, and Johnny, who had been out on somebusiness, was refreshing himself before going to the field too. Theofficers entering declared him their prisoner. "Well," said Johnny, "Iknow that very well. Don't I know a bum-baily when I see him? But sitdown and take something; I'm hungry if you ar'na, at all events."
The men gladly sate down to a fine piece of cold beef, and Johnny said,"Come, fill your glasses; I'll fetch another jug of ale. I reckon you'llnot give me a glass of ale like this where we are going."
He took a candle, descended the cellar, one of the officers peepingafter him to see that all was right, and again sitting down to the beefand beer. Both of them found the beef splendid; but beginning to findthe ale rather long in making its appearance, they descended the cellar,and found Johnny Darbyshire had gone quietly off at a back door.
Loud was the laughter of the country round at Johnny Darbyshire'soutwitting of the bailiff's, and desperate was their quest after him. Itwas many a day, however, before they again got sight of him. When theydid, it was on his own hearth, just as they had done at first. Not asoul was visible but himself. The officers declared now that they wouldmake sure of him, and yet drink with him too.
"With all my heart," said Johnny; "and draw it yourselves, too, if youwill."
"Nay, I will go down with you," said one; "my comrade shall wait hereabove."
"Good," said Johnny, lighting a candle.
"Now, mind, young man," added he, going hastily forwards towards thecellar steps,--"mind, I say, some of these steps are bad. It's a darkroad, and--nay, here!--this way,--follow me exactly."
But the man was too eager not to let Johnny go too far before him; hedid not observe that Johnny went some distance round before he turneddown the steps. There was no hand-rail to this dark flight of steps, andhe walked straight over into the opening.
"Hold!--hold! Heavens! the man's gone,--didn't I tell him!--"
A heavy plunge and a groan announced the man's descent into the cellar.
"Help!--help!" cried Johnny Darbyshire, rushing wildly into the roomabove. "The man, like a madman, has walked over the landing into thecellar. If he isn't killed, it's a mercy. Help!" snatching anothercandle; "but hold--take heed! take heed! or thou'lt go over after him!"
With good lighting, and careful examination of the way, the officerfollowed. They found the other man lying on his back, bleedingprofusely from his head, and insensible.
"We must have help! there's no time to lose!" cried Johnny Darbyshire,springing up stairs.
"Stop!" cried the distracted officer, left with his bleeding fellow, andspringing up the steps after Johnny. But he found a door already boltedin his face; and cursing Johnny for a treacherous and murderousscoundrel, he began vainly denouncing his barbarity in leaving hiscomrade thus to perish, and kicked and thundered lustily at the door.
But he did Johnny Darbyshire injustice. Johnny had no wish to hurt ahair of any man's head. The officer had been eager and confident, andoccasioned his own fall; and even now Johnny had not deserted him. Heappeared on horseback at the barn where threshers were at work; toldthem what had happened; gave them the key of the cellar door, bade themoff and help all they could; and said he was riding for the doctor. Thedoctor indeed soon came, and pronounced the man's life in no danger,though he was greatly scratched and bruised. Johnny himself was againbecome invisible.
From this time for nine months the pursuit of Johnny Darbyshire was aperfect campaign, full of stratagems, busy marchings, and expectations,but of no surprises. House, barns, fields, and woods, were successivelyferreted through, as report whispered that he was in one or the other.But it was to no purpose; not a glimpse of him was ever caught; and famenow loudly declared that he had safely transferred himself to America.Unfortunately for the truth of this report, which had become as wellreceived as the soundest piece of history, Johnny Darbyshire was onefine moonlight night encountered full face to face, by some poacherscrossing the fields near his house. The search became again more activethan ever, and the ruins of Wingfield Manor, which stood on a hill notfar from his dwelling, were speedily suspected to be haunted by him.These were hunted over and over, but no trace of Johnny Darbyshire, orany sufficient hiding-place for him, could be found, till, one finesummer evening, the officers were lucky enough to hit on a set of stepswhich descended amongst bushes into the lower part of the ruins. Here,going on, they found themselves, to their astonishment, in an ample oldkitchen, with a fire of charcoal in the grate, and Johnny Darbyshirewith a friend or two sitting most cosily over their tea. Before theycould recover from their surprise, Johnny, however, had vanished by somedoor or window, they could not tell exactly where, for there were sundrydoorways issuing into dark places of which former experience bade thembeware. Rushing up again, therefore, to the light, they soon posted someof their number around the ruins, and, with other assistance sent forfrom the village, they descended again, and commenced a vigilant search.This had been patiently waited for a good while by those posted without,when suddenly, as rats are seen to issue from a rick when the ferret isin it, Johnny Darbyshire was seen ascending hurriedly a brokenstaircase, that was partly exposed to the open day by the progress ofdilapidation, and terminated abruptly above.
Here, at this abrupt and dizzy termination, for the space of half aminute, stood Johnny Darbyshire, looking round, as if calmly surveyingthe landscape, which lay, with all its greenness and ascending smokes ofcottage chimneys, in the gleam of the setting sun. Another instant, andan officer of the law was seen cautiously scrambling up the same ruinouspath; but, when he had reached within about half a dozen yards or so ofJohnny, he paused, gazed upwards and downwards, and then remainedstationary. Johnny, taking one serious look at him, now waved his handas bidding him adieu, and disappeared in a mass of ivy.
The astonished officer on the ruined stair now hastily retreateddownwards; the watchers on the open place around ran to the side of thebuilding where Johnny Darbyshire had thus disappeared, but had scarcelyreached the next corner, when they heard a loud descent of stones andrubbish, and, springing forward, saw these rushing to the ground at thefoot of the old Manor, and some of them springing and bounding
down thehill below. What was most noticeable, however, was Johnny Darbyshirehimself, lying stretched, apparently lifeless, on the greensward at somelittle distance.
On examining afterwards the place, they found that Johnny had descendedbetween a double wall,--a way, no doubt, well known to him, and thencehad endeavored to let himself down the wall by the ivy which grewenormously strong there; but the decayed state of the stones had causedthe hold of the ivy to give way, and Johnny had been precipitated,probably from a considerable height. He still held quantities of leavesand ivy twigs in his hands.
He was conveyed as speedily as possible on a door to his own house,where it was ascertained by the surgeon that life was sound in him, butthat besides plenty of severe contusions, he had broken a thigh. Whenthis news reached his persecutor, though Johnny was declared to haverendered himself, by his resistance to the officers of the law, liableto outlawry, this gentleman declared that he was quite satisfied; thatJohnny was punished enough, especially as he had been visited with thevery mischief he had occasioned to the mare. He declined to proceed anyfurther against him, paid all charges and costs, and the court itselfthought fit to take no further cognizance of the matter.
Johnny was, indeed, severely punished. For nearly twelve months he wasconfined to the house, and never did his indomitable and masterfulspirit exhibit itself so strongly and characteristically as during thistime. He was a most troublesome subject in the house. As he sate in hisbed, he ordered, scolded, and ruled with a rod of iron all the women,including his wife and daughter, so that they would have thought the legand the confinement nothing to what they had to suffer.
He at length had himself conveyed to the sitting-room or the kitchen, ashe pleased, in a great easy-chair; but as he did not satisfy himselfthat he was sufficiently obeyed, he one day sent the servant-girl tofetch him the longest scarlet-bean stick that she could find in thegarden. Armed with this, he now declared that he would have his ownway,--he could reach them now! And, accordingly, there he sate, orderingand scolding, and, if not promptly obeyed in his most extravagantcommands, not sparing to inflict substantial knocks with his pea-prick,as he called it. This succeeded so well that he would next have hischair carried to the door, and survey the state of things without.
"Ay, he knew they were going on prettily. There was fine management, hewas sure, when he was thus laid up. He should be ruined, that wascertain. O, if he could but see the ploughing and the crops,--to see howthey were going on would make the heart of a stone ache, he expected."
His son was a steady young fellow, and, it must be known, was all thewhile farming, and carrying on the business much better than he himselfhad ever done.
"But he would be with them one of these days, and for the present hewould see his stock at all events."
He accordingly ordered the whole of his stock, his horses, his cows, hisbullocks, his sheep, his calves, his pigs, and poultry, to be all, everyhead of them, driven past as he sate at the door. It was like anothernaming of the beasts by Adam, or another going up into the Ark. There hesate, swaying his long stick, now talking to this horse, and now to thatcow. To the old bull he addressed a long speech; and every now and thenhe broke off to rate the farm-servants for their neglect of things."What a bag of bones was this heifer! What a skeleton was that horse!Why, they must have been fairly starved on purpose; nay, they must havebeen in the pinfold all the time he had been laid up. But he would teachthe lazy rogues a different lesson as soon as he could get about."
And the next thing was to get about in his cart with his bed laid in it.In this he rode over his farm; and it would have made a fine scene forFielding or Goldsmith, to have seen all his proceedings, and heard allhis exclamations and remarks, as he surveyed field after field.
"What ploughing! what sowing! Why, they must have had a crooked plough,and a set of bandy-legged horses, to plough such ploughing. There was nomore straightness in their furrows than in a dog's hind leg. And thenwhere had the man flung the seed to? Here was a bit come up, and therenever a bit. It was his belief that they must go to Jericho to find halfof his corn that had been flung away. What! had they picked the windiestday of all the year to scatter his corn on the air in? And then thedrains were all stopped; the land was drowning, was starving to death;and where were the hedges all gone to? Hedges he left, but now he onlysaw gaps!"
So he went round the farm, and for many a day did it furnish him with atheme of scolding in the house.
Such was Johnny Darbyshire; and thus he lived for many years. We sketchno imaginary character, we relate no invented story. Perhaps a moreperfect specimen of the shrewd and clever man converted into the localand domestic tyrant, by having too much of his own humor, never wasbeheld; but the genus to which Johnny Darbyshire belonged is far fromextinct. In the nooks of England there are not a few of them yet to befound in all their froward glory; and in the most busy cities, thoughthe great prominences of their eccentricities are rubbed off by dailyconcussion with men as hard-headed as themselves, we see glimpsesbeneath the polished surface of what they would be in ruder andcustom-freer scenes. The Johnny Darbyshires may be said to be instancesof English independence run to seed.