CHAPTER XXIX

REAPING LEADS TO REVELLING

[Illustration: 236.jpg The Signal]

Although I was under interdict for two months from my darling--“one for

your sake, one for mine,” she had whispered, with her head withdrawn,

yet not so very far from me--lighter heart was not on Exmoor than I bore

for half the time, and even for three quarters. For she was safe; I knew

that daily by a mode of signals well-contrived between us now, on the

strength of our experience. “I have nothing now to fear, John,” she had

said to me, as we parted; “it is true that I am spied and watched, but

Gwenny is too keen for them. While I have my grandfather to prevent all

violence; and little Gwenny to keep watch on those who try to watch me;

and you, above all others, John, ready at a moment, if the worst comes

to the worst--this neglected Lorna Doone was never in such case before.

Therefore do not squeeze my hand, John; I am safe without it, and you do

not know your strength.”

Ah, I knew my strength right well. Hill and valley scarcely seemed to be

step and landing for me; fiercest cattle I would play with, making them

go backward, and afraid of hurting them, like John Fry with his terrier;

even rooted trees seemed to me but as sticks I could smite down, except

for my love of everything. The love of all things was upon me, and a

softness to them all, and a sense of having something even such as they

had.

[Illustration: 237.jpg A wealth of harvest]

Then the golden harvest came, waving on the broad hill-side, and

nestling in the quiet nooks scooped from out the fringe of wood. A

wealth of harvest such as never gladdened all our country-side since my

father ceased to reap, and his sickle hung to rust. There had not been

a man on Exmoor fit to work that reaping-hook since the time its owner

fell, in the prime of life and strength, before a sterner reaper. But

now I took it from the wall, where mother proudly stored it, while she

watched me, hardly knowing whether she should smile or cry.

All the parish was assembled in our upper courtyard; for we were to open

the harvest that year, as had been settled with Farmer Nicholas, and

with Jasper Kebby, who held the third or little farm. We started in

proper order, therefore, as our practice is: first, the parson Josiah

Bowden, wearing his gown and cassock, with the parish Bible in his hand,

and a sickle strapped behind him. As he strode along well and stoutly,

being a man of substance, all our family came next, I leading mother

with one hand, in the other bearing my father's hook, and with a loaf

of our own bread and a keg of cider upon my back. Behind us Annie and

Lizzie walked, wearing wreaths of corn-flowers, set out very prettily,

such as mother would have worn if she had been a farmer's wife, instead

of a farmer's widow. Being as she was, she had no adornment, except that

her widow's hood was off, and her hair allowed to flow, as if she had

been a maiden; and very rich bright hair it was, in spite of all her

troubles.

After us, the maidens came, milkmaids and the rest of them, with Betty

Muxworthy at their head, scolding even now, because they would not walk

fitly. But they only laughed at her; and she knew it was no good to

scold, with all the men behind them.

Then the Snowes came trooping forward; Farmer Nicholas in the middle,

walking as if he would rather walk to a wheatfield of his own, yet

content to follow lead, because he knew himself the leader; and signing

every now and then to the people here and there, as if I were nobody.

But to see his three great daughters, strong and handsome wenches,

making upon either side, as if somebody would run off with them--this

was the very thing that taught me how to value Lorna, and her pure

simplicity.

After the Snowes came Jasper Kebby, with his wife, new-married; and a

very honest pair they were, upon only a hundred acres, and a right of

common. After these the men came hotly, without decent order, trying to

spy the girls in front, and make good jokes about them, at which their

wives laughed heartily, being jealous when alone perhaps. And after

these men and their wives came all the children toddling, picking

flowers by the way, and chattering and asking questions, as the children

will. There must have been threescore of us, take one with another, and

the lane was full of people. When we were come to the big field-gate,

where the first sickle was to be, Parson Bowden heaved up the rail with

the sleeves of his gown done green with it; and he said that everybody

might hear him, though his breath was short, “In the name of the Lord,

Amen!”

“Amen! So be it!” cried the clerk, who was far behind, being only a

shoemaker.

Then Parson Bowden read some verses from the parish Bible, telling us to

lift up our eyes, and look upon the fields already white to harvest;

and then he laid the Bible down on the square head of the gate-post,

and despite his gown and cassock, three good swipes he cut off corn,

and laid them right end onwards. All this time the rest were huddling

outside the gate, and along the lane, not daring to interfere with

parson, but whispering how well he did it.

When he had stowed the corn like that, mother entered, leaning on me,

and we both said, “Thank the Lord for all His mercies, and these the

first-fruits of His hand!” And then the clerk gave out a psalm verse by

verse, done very well; although he sneezed in the midst of it, from a

beard of wheat thrust up his nose by the rival cobbler at Brendon. And

when the psalm was sung, so strongly that the foxgloves on the bank were

shaking, like a chime of bells, at it, Parson took a stoop of cider, and

we all fell to at reaping.

Of course I mean the men, not women; although I know that up the

country, women are allowed to reap; and right well they reap it, keeping

row for row with men, comely, and in due order, yet, meseems, the men

must ill attend to their own reaping-hooks, in fear lest the other cut

themselves, being the weaker vessel. But in our part, women do what

seems their proper business, following well behind the men, out of harm

of the swinging hook, and stooping with their breasts and arms up they

catch the swathes of corn, where the reapers cast them, and tucking them

together tightly with a wisp laid under them, this they fetch around and

twist, with a knee to keep it close; and lo, there is a goodly sheaf,

ready to set up in stooks! After these the children come, gathering each

for his little self, if the farmer be right-minded; until each hath a

bundle made as big as himself and longer, and tumbles now and again with

it, in the deeper part of the stubble.

We, the men, kept marching onwards down the flank of the yellow wall,

with knees bent wide, and left arm bowed and right arm flashing steel.

Each man in his several place, keeping down the rig or chine, on the

right side of the reaper in front, and the left of the man that followed

him, each making farther sweep and inroad into the golden breadth and

depth, each casting leftwards his rich clearance on his foregoer's

double track.

So like half a wedge of wildfowl, to and fro we swept the field; and

when to either hedge we came, sickles wanted whetting, and throats

required moistening, and backs were in need of easing, and every man had

much to say, and women wanted praising. Then all returned to the other

end, with reaping-hooks beneath our arms, and dogs left to mind jackets.

But now, will you believe me well, or will you only laugh at me? For

even in the world of wheat, when deep among the varnished crispness of

the jointed stalks, and below the feathered yielding of the graceful

heads, even as I gripped the swathes and swept the sickle round them,

even as I flung them by to rest on brother stubble, through the whirling

yellow world, and eagerness of reaping, came the vision of my love, as

with downcast eyes she wondered at my power of passion. And then the

sweet remembrance glowed brighter than the sun through wheat, through my

very depth of heart, of how she raised those beaming eyes, and ripened

in my breast rich hope. Even now I could descry, like high waves in the

distance, the rounded heads and folded shadows of the wood of Bagworthy.

Perhaps she was walking in the valley, and softly gazing up at them. Oh,

to be a bird just there! I could see a bright mist hanging just above

the Doone Glen. Perhaps it was shedding its drizzle upon her. Oh, to

be a drop of rain! The very breeze which bowed the harvest to my bosom

gently, might have come direct from Lorna, with her sweet voice laden.

Ah, the flaws of air that wander where they will around her, fan her

bright cheek, play with lashes, even revel in her hair and reveal her

beauties--man is but a breath, we know, would I were such breath as

that!

But confound it, while I ponder, with delicious dreams suspended, with

my right arm hanging frustrate and the giant sickle drooped, with my

left arm bowed for clasping something more germane than wheat, and my

eyes not minding business, but intent on distant woods--confound it,

what are the men about, and why am I left vapouring? They have taken

advantage of me, the rogues! They are gone to the hedge for the

cider-jars; they have had up the sledd of bread and meat, quite softly

over the stubble, and if I can believe my eyes (so dazed with Lorna's

image), they are sitting down to an excellent dinner, before the church

clock has gone eleven!

“John Fry, you big villain!” I cried, with John hanging up in the air by

the scruff of his neck-cloth, but holding still by his knife and fork,

and a goose-leg in between his lips, “John Fry, what mean you by this,

sir?”

“Latt me dowun, or I can't tell 'e,” John answered with some difficulty.

So I let him come down, and I must confess that he had reason on his

side. “Plaise your worship”--John called me so, ever since I returned

from London, firmly believing that the King had made me a magistrate

at least; though I was to keep it secret--“us zeed as how your worship

were took with thinkin' of King's business, in the middle of the

whate-rigg: and so uz zed, 'Latt un coom to his zell, us had better zave

taime, by takking our dinner'; and here us be, praise your worship, and

hopps no offence with thick iron spoon full of vried taties.”

I was glad enough to accept the ladle full of fried batatas, and to make

the best of things, which is generally done by letting men have their

own way. Therefore I managed to dine with them, although it was so

early.

For according to all that I can find, in a long life and a varied one,

twelve o'clock is the real time for a man to have his dinner. Then the

sun is at his noon, calling halt to look around, and then the plants and

leaves are turning, each with a little leisure time, before the work of

the afternoon. Then is the balance of east and west, and then the right

and left side of a man are in due proportion, and contribute fairly

with harmonious fluids. And the health of this mode of life, and its

reclaiming virtue are well set forth in our ancient rhyme,--

“Sunrise, breakfast; sun high, dinner;

Sundown, sup; makes a saint of a sinner.”

Whish, the wheat falls! Whirl again; ye have had good dinners; give your

master and mistress plenty to supply another year. And in truth we did

reap well and fairly, through the whole of that afternoon, I not only

keeping lead, but keeping the men up to it. We got through a matter of

ten acres, ere the sun between the shocks broke his light on wheaten

plumes, then hung his red cloak on the clouds, and fell into grey

slumber.

Seeing this we wiped our sickles, and our breasts and foreheads, and

soon were on the homeward road, looking forward to good supper.

Of course all the reapers came at night to the harvest-supper, and

Parson Bowden to say the grace as well as to help to carve for us. And

some help was needed there, I can well assure you; for the reapers had

brave appetites, and most of their wives having babies were forced to

eat as a duty. Neither failed they of this duty; cut and come again was

the order of the evening, as it had been of the day; and I had no time

to ask questions, but help meat and ladle gravy. All the while our

darling Annie, with her sleeves tucked up, and her comely figure

panting, was running about with a bucket of taties mashed with lard and

cabbage. Even Lizzie had left her books, and was serving out beer and

cider; while mother helped plum-pudding largely on pewter-plates with

the mutton. And all the time, Betty Muxworthy was grunting in and out

everywhere, not having space to scold even, but changing the dishes,

serving the meat, poking the fire, and cooking more. But John Fry would

not stir a peg, except with his knife and fork, having all the airs of a

visitor, and his wife to keep him eating, till I thought there would be

no end of it.

[Illustration: 242.jpg Annie and Lizzie]

Then having eaten all they could, they prepared themselves, with one

accord, for the business now of drinking. But first they lifted the neck

of corn, dressed with ribbons gaily, and set it upon the mantelpiece,

each man with his horn a-froth; and then they sang a song about it,

every one shouting in the chorus louder than harvest thunderstorm. Some

were in the middle of one verse, and some at the end of the next one;

yet somehow all managed to get together in the mighty roar of the

burden. And if any farmer up the country would like to know Exmoor

harvest-song as sung in my time and will be sung long after I am

garnered home, lo, here I set it down for him, omitting only the

dialect, which perchance might puzzle him.

[Illustration: 243.jpg Harvest]

EXMOOR HARVEST-SONG

1

The corn, oh the corn, 'tis the ripening of the corn!

Go unto the door, my lad, and look beneath the moon,

Thou canst see, beyond the woodrick, how it is yelloon:

'Tis the harvesting of wheat, and the barley must be shorn.

(Chorus)

The corn, oh the corn, and the yellow, mellow corn!

Here's to the corn, with the cups upon the board!

We've been reaping all the day, and we'll reap again the morn

And fetch it home to mow-yard, and then we'll thank the Lord.

2

The wheat, oh the wheat, 'tis the ripening of the wheat!

All the day it has been hanging down its heavy head,

Bowing over on our bosoms with a beard of red:

'Tis the harvest, and the value makes the labour sweet.

(Chorus)

The wheat, oh the wheat, and the golden, golden wheat!

Here's to the wheat, with the loaves upon the board!

We've been reaping all the day, and we never will be beat

And fetch it all to mow-yard, and then we'll thank the Lord.

3

The barley, oh the barley, and the barley is in prime!

All the day it has been rustling, with its bristles brown,

Waiting with its beard abowing, till it can be mown!

'Tis the harvest and the barley must abide its time.

(Chorus)

The barley, oh the barley, and the barley ruddy brown!

Here's to the barley, with the beer upon the board!

We'll go amowing, soon as ever all the wheat is down;

When all is in the mow-yard, we'll stop, and thank the Lord.

4

The oats, oh the oats, 'tis the ripening of the oats!

All the day they have been dancing with their flakes of white,

Waiting for the girding-hook, to be the nags' delight:

'Tis the harvest, let them dangle in their skirted coats.

(Chorus)

The oats, oh the oats, and the silver, silver oats!

Here's to the oats with the blackstone on the board!

We'll go among them, when the barley has been laid in rotes:

When all is home to mow-yard, we'll kneel and thank the Lord.

5

The corn, oh the corn, and the blessing of the corn!

Come unto the door, my lads, and look beneath the moon,

We can see, on hill and valley, how it is yelloon,

With a breadth of glory, as when our Lord was born.

(Chorus)

The corn, oh the corn, and the yellow, mellow corn!

Thanks for the corn, with our bread upon the board!

So shall we acknowledge it, before we reap the morn,

With our hands to heaven, and our knees unto the Lord.

Now we sang this song very well the first time, having the parish choir

to lead us, and the clarionet, and the parson to give us the time with

his cup; and we sang it again the second time, not so but what you might

praise it (if you had been with us all the evening), although the parson

was gone then, and the clerk not fit to compare with him in the matter

of keeping time. But when that song was in its third singing, I defy any

man (however sober) to have made out one verse from the other, or even

the burden from the verses, inasmuch as every man present, ay, and woman

too, sang as became convenient to them, in utterance both of words and

tune.

And in truth, there was much excuse for them; because it was a noble

harvest, fit to thank the Lord for, without His thinking us hypocrites.

For we had more land in wheat, that year, than ever we had before,

and twice the crop to the acre; and I could not help now and then

remembering, in the midst of the merriment, how my father in the

churchyard yonder would have gloried to behold it. And my mother, who

had left us now, happening to return just then, being called to have her

health drunk (for the twentieth time at least), I knew by the sadness

in her eyes that she was thinking just as I was. Presently, therefore,

I slipped away from the noise, and mirth, and smoking (although of that

last there was not much, except from Farmer Nicholas), and crossing the

courtyard in the moonlight, I went, just to cool myself, as far as my

father's tombstone.

[Illustration: 245.jpg Tailpiece]