Tales of Northumbria Part 11

'It came ower us first, I think,' he answered, 'when reading Shakespeare an' tragedies an' sic like. I seemed ti see the vary actors theirselves before my eyes, an' I fair felt like them, ye ken.

Ye'll think it strange, mevvies, but grandfeythor, he had a bit talent that way, an' ran awa frae his home, an' made his livin' play-acting an' piano-playin', an' singin', an' aal. He took ill somewhere aboot here, an' died, an' feythor, he took ti warkin' at the pits, an'

that's the story of it,' concluded my little companion shyly.

'But with a gift like yours, why didn't you tell _me_ of it, for example, or the minister, and perhaps we could have got you a proper start somewhere?'

'Ay, I kenned that,' said he, 'an' thank ye kindlies; but I found, on tryin' it, that I wesn't strang enow for't iv a reg'lor way; an'

forbye that, I didn't want the laddies ti ken aboot it, lest they might call us "Hamlet," mevvies, or "clownie," or sic like, an' my mother divvent like play-actin'; it was she as made my feythor give it up, sayin' it wes nae bettor than a mugger's[17] life, elwis wanderin'

frae one place tiv anuther, an' nae bra.s.s iv it at aal.'

There was no time for further talk, for the train was waiting, and, arriving at our destination, I found my companion so tired that it was all he could do to walk home.

The minister and I put our heads together after this, and collected enough money to send our little friend down to a seaside home for a few weeks.

On Sat.u.r.day night, however, a message came from the doctor that he was rapidly sinking. His mother and brother were both out, as it happened, but the minister and I arrived just in time to bid farewell to the poor little 'Caleb Jay.'

As we proceeded silently homeward, an idea came into my head.

'In an age of public testimonials and memorials,' I said, 'humble self-sacrifice goes unrewarded. Our little friend ought to have a statue at the least; but, of course, it is no good doing anything.

You, therefore, should bring him into your sermon to-morrow evening, and give a few people a hint of it beforehand.'

The idea seemed to strike my companion, and he said he would gladly do so.

I had not seen Tom, but as I walked to my lodgings I pa.s.sed him standing at the street corner amidst a knot of companions.

I heard one of them mention the 'Caleb Jay,' and I stayed my steps a moment to hear the reply.

'Ay,' said Tom, 'he was a plucky little beggor iv his way, an' useful tae, an' I was often sorry for him, _he wes sae tarr'ble ugly_! But, ho-way, I's plenty bra.s.s on me, and I'll treat ye aal tiv anuthor beor!'

FOOTNOTES:

[14] It is said that at the time of the Napoleonic wars some French prisoners were detained in custody in the pit country not far from Durham City. It would appear that some intercourse between the inhabitants of the place and the foreigners sprang up, which resulted in the addition of one expressive phrase, at least, to the local dialect, that, namely, of 'Caleb Jay' for 'Quel objet!' due to their strange garb, probably, or tattered appearance. The phrase is now wholly obsolete, the writer believes, but it is said it was once actually in use.

[15] Wood-pigeon.

[16] The Northumbrian for 'encore.'

[17] 'Mugger' = beggar; literally, one who sells mugs.

GEORDIE ARMSTRONG, 'THE JESU-YTE'

I.

Geordie Armstrong, after a somewhat stormy past, had become a steady hewer, and a local preacher of some repute. Never a Sunday but he was 'planned' to speak at this or that village, and frequently, as he found opportunity, would 'pit in a bit overtime' at a 'cla.s.s-meeting'

or 'knife-an'-fork tea,' when the 'asking a blessing' or a returning of thanks might furnish occasion for a 'bit extemporizin'.' He was in receipt of excellent wages down the pit; his worldly goods comprised, as he often proclaimed, a 'bonny, an' what's o' far mair importance, a G.o.dly missus, three canny bairns, a cosy hoos, a fine little librairee, an' a tarr'ble fertile garden.'

As he thought upon the sum of his blessings one Sat.u.r.day night when, after having 'weshed hissel' an' had his tea,' he proceeded to light his pipe, he felt he could only properly describe himself as a 'varitable corn-u-cop-ye-ar ov happiness.'

Yet even then, even in that depth of felicity, an uneasy feeling would intrude: the memory of Scotty would float to the surface of his mind, and the thought of the 'parlous state' in which his old 'marrow'

(mate) stood would ruffle its calm placidity.

This was 'the little rift within the lute'; here was the caterpillar in the 'corn-u-cop-ye-ar,' and, like the Apostle Paul of old, he was fain to accept his trial, in the spirit of true humility, as a judgment upon him for the failings of his past life.

It was not for lack of trying that Scotty refused to come to chapel; indeed, Geordie had so vexed him with his importunity that Scotty had refused to work with him any longer, and was now employed further 'in-by' with another mate. But for all that, Geordie felt certain that the cause of failure lay with himself, due probably to his weakness in faith, to lack of some essential or other, and that the blame of Scotty's not being 'brought to the Lord' lay at his door.

It had been evident to him for some time that he must try other means, and, being a great reader, he had latterly come across, and been much attracted by, a remarkable account of some ancient methods of the 'Jesu-ytes' in cases of this sort.

Sometimes the sinner in question had been unwittingly tempted into the 'narrow path' by the gratification of his ambitions on some point or other, conversion resulting, as in the case of Tom Appleby--once a fire-hot Socialist, now a sleek Conservative--from unexpected prosperity.

At other times the same end had been attained by a crafty flattery.

Suppose a man ambitious of eminence and State distinction: he might be diverted from politics to the Church, and many were the instances given of bold and ambitious men who had done great work and attained high place as the servants of St. Peter.

Could Scotty not be caught hold of in some such fashion? queried Geordie to himself, as he sat by his fireside that night, deeply pondering the records he had just been studying. 'I divvn't think he's ambitious, for he cares nowt aboot politics, an' he never even thought o' stannin' for election on wor Parish c.o.o.ncil. Aal he cares for is his beer, an' his quoits, an' bettin', an'--an'--his pansies; an' I doot I cannot catch haud ov him in any one of those partic'lors, for it wouldn't be fittin' for us that's a local preacher to gan an' send him a barril o' beer, or back him at a quoitin' match. But stay--there's the pansies; he's pansy champion, dootless; but then I's leek champion, an' if I can grow leeks, I's warn'd but I can grow pansies, for flooers is easier grown nor vegetables.'

Geordie puffed at his pipe vigorously for a minute or two in silence as he turned the matter over in his mind.

A light kindled slowly in the back of his deep-set eye, a smile showed upon his lips, then he cuffed himself vigorously upon the knee.

'Ho-way, gan on, Geordie!' he encouraged himself aloud; 'thoo's turnin' a fair Jesu-yte, I's warn'd!'

As the day appointed for the annual meeting of the Flower Show drew near, Geordie had been heard to drop hints of the 'wonnerfu' new specie' of pansies he had become possessed of--'seedlin's' he had obtained 'doon the south-country way,' and it was not long before the rumour reached the ears of Scotty.

Nothing could exceed the contempt of the latter when he heard of Geordie's trying to grow pansies--'him that's just a vegetable man, a tormut (turnip) grower, a sort o' ha'penny farmer,' and as for anything good in the way of seedlings coming out of the south-country, it was just 'bang ridi'klous, for a' folk kenned that a' the best growers lived in auld Scotland.'

By-and-by some mischievous individual told Scotty that Geordie was 'full' set upon being pansy champion, and was so c.o.c.k-sure about it that he was willing to back himself to win.

Scotty was so annoyed at this that the next time he came across Geordie he could not refrain from jeering at his attempt at pansy growing. 'Wey, it'll be as muckle as ye can do to tell a pansy frae a vi'let!' he cried.

Geordie looked at him seriously from under his bushy eyebrows as he replied, 'I's gannin' to show--an' I's gannin' to win--_wi' pansies, not vi'lets_.'

'Will ye back yorsel', then?' retorted his opponent sneeringly.

'Well, ye knaa,' replied the other slowly, with evident embarra.s.sment, 'I's not a bettin' man, but if thoo thinks I's not in earnest, I's willin' to gie a proof that I is. What d'ye say to yor takin'--if ye beat us, that is--anythin' oot o' my hoos thoo has a fancy for; an'--an'--if I beat thoo, wey, aal I axes is that thoo should come to chapel--noo an' again, ye knaa--ov an evenin',' he hastily added, as his companion's face a.s.sumed a look of infinite scorn.

'Ha' ye got that auld double-barrelled shot-gun yet?' queried Scotty, after a pause in which he had arrived at the conclusion that the odds were 'aboot a thoosand to one' in his favour.

'Yes,' replied Geordie. 'I still have her; she's there hangin' up above the mantelshelf.'

'Well, I'll tak' up wi' yor proposal,' was Scotty's reply.

'Shake hands on't, then,' said Geordie slowly, unsuccessfully endeavouring to instil an apprehensive tremor into his voice.

His companion shook hands carelessly, and swung away whistling barefacedly, 'And it's up wi' the bonnets o' Bonnie Dundee.'