The Buccaneer Farmer - Harold Bindloss
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"First trial, Mr. Forsyth's Merry Lad," a steward announced, and the
crowd gathered round when the judge took out his watch.
Furze bushes had been stuck into the ground to simulate a broken hedge.
Beyond these was a row of hurdles with an open gate, and then a number
of obstacles, while a railed pen occupied a corner of the field. Kit
gave Grace a card showing the way the sheep must be driven round the
different barriers.
"It's a good test, particularly as we can't follow the dogs and they must
take each obstacle in its proper turn."
"They are wonderfully clever to understand," said Grace, and stopped when
the judge shouted, "Time!"
The farmer called his dog, a handsome smooth-haired collie, that set off
with a bound and drove the sheep at full speed towards the furze. As they
came up, with fleeces shaking and a patter of little feet, the man ran to
the length of the string and waved his stick.
"Away back! Gan away back! T'ither slap, ye fule!"
People laughed when the dog in desperate haste stopped the sheep as they
packed outside a hole, but it drove them to the next gap, through which
they streamed.
"Forrad! Gan forrad!" cried the farmer. "Head them, Merry Lad!"
The dog turned the sheep and brought them back through another opening,
after which they raced towards the hurdles, and the collie hesitated as
if puzzled by its master's shouts. The sheep were near the end of the
rails, but it was not the end the card indicated. Then the dog seemed to
understand what was required, and circling round the flock with swift,
graceful leaps, drove them along the hurdles and round the other end.
There was some applause from the crowd and afterwards good-humored
banter when the dog ran backwards and forwards at a loss. The animal
obviously knew the flock must be taken round the remaining obstacles, but
had only its master's shouts for guide to the order in which they must be
passed. Sometimes the farmer got angry and sometimes laughed, but except
for a mistake or two the collie drove the sheep in and out among the
barriers as the card required and put them in the pen.
Two or three more trials took place, and for the most part, the
unoccupied dogs strained at their leads and whimpered, but old Bob sat at
Kit's feet, watching, with his head on one side.
"One can see he's thinking; I believe he wants to remember the right way
round," Grace remarked, and smiled when a steward beckoned Kit. "It's
your turn," she said. "I wish you good luck!"
Kit went off with his heart beating and felt half amused by his keenness
when the steward tied the string to his leg. After his adventures on the
Caribbean and the stakes he and Adam had played for, it was strange he
should be eager to win a box of plated forks at a rustic show. Yet, he
was eager; Grace had wished him luck.
"Number four; Mr. Askew's Old Bob!" the steward announced.
Kit called, and Bob, trotting away deliberately, got the sheep together
and drove them correctly through the holes. He was doing well, in one
sense, and Kit knew he would make few mistakes, but time counted and old
Bob was slow. He had trouble at the hurdles, where the sheep seemed
resolved to go the wrong way, but he stopped them and took them back to
the proper end. Kit gave very few orders, although he looked at his watch
rather anxiously. Bob understood and could be trusted to do his work, the
trouble was he might not finish it in time. At length, Kit drew a deep
breath, and put back his watch. The sheep were in the pen and there was a
minute left.
Kit went back to Grace, and Bob trotted up, panting, with his tongue
hanging out. He looked at Kit, as if for approval; and then, after
wagging his tail when his master spoke, held up his paw to Grace.
"Hallo!" said Kit. "I haven't known him to do that before. It's not a
sheepdog's trick."
"I taught him," Grace replied, with a touch of color. "He has not
forgotten, and really deserves to be stroked."
She went away, but she gave Kit a smile across the railing, behind which
she stood with Mrs. Osborn, when the judge called out:
"First prize, Number Four; Mr. Askew's Bob!"
When lunch was served in a big tent Osborn sat at the top of the table,
but his satisfaction had vanished. For one thing, everybody had applauded
when Askew won the prize; the fellow was obviously a favorite and this
annoyed him. Then, Drysdale's sheep were to be sold by auction after
lunch and the committee had hinted that the president was the proper
person to buy the flock. Drysdale sat next to Kit at the bottom of the
table. He was a little, shabbily-dressed man, with a brown face, and a
twinkling smile.
"Where are the sheep?" Kit asked.
"We'll send t' band for them presently. Are you gan t' bid?"
"I don't know until I've seen them. What about their quality?"
"Weel, it might be better; they're gifts, you ken. There's a young ram
might suit you; he's true Carlside strain."
"I don't know how you got him then. I can't see Mayson giving away good
breeding stock."
Drysdale grinned. "Some big stanes fell on t' ram when Mayson was
Bringing flock doon Barra ghyll. He looks a bit the waur o' it, but you
can tell the Carlside blood."
"I'll see what I think about the animal," Kit said with a laugh. "Do you
expect a good sale? The rich people, as a rule, go to church."
"They'll bid aw t' same. When you canna stir their generosity, you can
try their pride. If you look at it one way, the thing's humorsome. They
dinna want to help me, but they will."
"It's possible," Kit agreed. "I don't know if the plan's above suspicion,
but you need the money."
"It will be weel spent. Hooiver, I must be off and see the band dinna get
ower much to drink."
Drysdale went away and soon afterwards a strange procession headed by the
band and guarded by children, entered the field. A row of geese, waddling
solemnly in single file, came first, and then turkeys stalked among their
broods; a boy led a handsome goat and long-legged calf, and in the rear
straggled a flock of sheep. When all were driven into pens the sale began
and the crowd laughed and bantered the men who bid. In the meantime, Kit
examined the sheep. Some had faults and the ram had obviously suffered
from its accident. It was clear, though, that it sprang from a famous
stock, and Kit knew an animal transmits to its offspring inherited
qualities and not acquired defects. He recognized the stamp of breeding
and resolved to buy the sheep. The ram was worth much more than he
imagined the shepherds thought.
He went back to the stand and by and by the auctioneer praised the flock.
When he stopped, there was silence for a few moments until Osborn nodded.
"A cautious beginning often makes a good ending, but we've a long way to
go yet," the auctioneer remarked. "Who'll say five pounds more?"
Thorn made a sign, and the auctioneer raised his hammer. "We've got a
start, but you must keep it up. The opportunity's what folks call
unique; you'll save money by buying, and help a good cause. Don't
know which will appeal to you, but you can pay your money, and take
your choice."
He looked about while the crowd laughed, and after two or three
flockmasters advanced the price, caught Kit's eye. "Mr. Askew's a judge
of sheep. We'll call it ten pounds rise!"
Kit nodded, and Osborn glanced at Thorn, who shrugged. The latter had
helped to start the bidding, which was all he meant to do, and Osborn
would have tried to draw out after making another offer, had he not seen
Kit. He did not want the sheep, although he was willing to buy them at
something above their proper price. Now, however, Askew was his
antagonist, the fellow must be beaten.
"We must finish the sale before the driving-matches," he said. "Go up
twenty pounds."
"They'd not sell near it if you sent them to the market," a farmer
remarked.
"Do you sell pedigree stock to butchers? The ram's worth the money," the
auctioneer rejoined.
On the whole, Kit agreed, although he saw that others did not. Moreover
he was willing to run some risk by helping Drysdale, whom he liked, and
he signed to the auctioneer. The farmers stopped, but Osborn went on. He
had not liked Peter Askew and liked Kit worse. Father and son had opposed
him, and now the young upstart was proud of the money he had, no doubt,
got by doubtful means. He would not let the fellow balk him, and his face
got red as he answered the auctioneer's inquiring glance. Presently he
turned with a frown as Hayes touched his arm.
"It's an extravagant price," the agent remarked. "They'll want a check
and your account is getting very low."
"You'll have to cut down expenses, then," Osborn answered haughtily.
"This is not a matter about which I need your advice."
Hayes shrugged and Osborn nodded to the auctioneer when Kit made another
bid. He felt hot and savage and wanted a drink, but could not leave the
stand. Askew meant to humiliate him and he must hold out. He was the most
important man in the neighborhood, and must not be beaten by a small
farmer. For all that, the sum he would have to pay would be a drain.
After the next bid the auctioneer looked at Kit, who smiled and
shook his head.
"Mr. Osborn takes the lot," the auctioneer remarked. "He has paid a high
price to help a good object, but I think we all hope the next lambing
season will give him his money back."
Osborn's savage satisfaction was spoiled by a chilling doubt and he went
off to look for Hayes.
"Give the fellow a check for the sheep on the estate account," he said.
"How much?" Hayes asked, and looked thoughtful when Osborn told him.
"There are a number of bills to meet and we'll have no money coming in
until term-day."
"Can't you put off the bills?"
"I think not," Hayes answered, meaningly. "It mightn't be prudent. Our
credit is not too good."
Osborn was silent for a moment or two. "Very well," he said. "I'll try to
sell the sheep to somebody who'll give me what they're really worth. Come
over to-morrow and we'll talk about the new mortgage."
Then he went back, moodily, to join the judges for the driving-match.
CHAPTER IV
THE FLOOD
On the morning after the show, Osborn walked up and down the terrace,
waiting moodily for Hayes. It was a rash extravagance to buy the sheep
and he blamed Kit for this. The fellow had gone on bidding in order to
force him to pay a high price; besides, the money would help an object
Osborn did not approve. There were enough chapels in the neighborhood and
any legislation that interfered with the landlords' privileges got its
warmest support at such places.
The sum he had spent was not remarkably large and he had cut his loss by
selling the flock to a farmer at their market price, but this was about
half what he had given and he had some urgent debts. Although he had
hoped to hold out until term-day, when the payment of rents would ease
the strain on his finances, he must have money and did not know where it
could be got by prudent means.
In the meantime, he looked about gloomily. The weather had changed, a
moist west wind drove heavy clouds across the sky and the fell-tops
were hidden by mist. It threatened a wet hay-time and hay was scarce
in the dale, where they generally cut it late after feeding sheep on
the meadows. Osborn farmed some of his land and had hoped for a good
crop, which he needed. The grass in the big meadow by the beck was
long and getting ripe, but the red sorrel that grew among it had lost
its bright color. The filling heads rolled in waves before the wind,
but there was something dull and lifeless in the noise they made, and
Osborn knew what this meant. Rain was coming and when rain began in the
dale it did not stop.
His glance rested on the green embankment along the beck. His father had
made the dyke at a heavy cost but in places the stones and soil had
gradually washed away. If the dyke broke at one spot, the beck would
return to its old channel and much damage might be done, particularly if
the floods rolled across the turnip fields. Osborn had meant to
strengthen the dyke, but had put it off because of the expense.
A little later Hayes came up the steps. Osborn did not ask him to sit
down, although there was room on the stone bench, and the agent leaned
against the terrace wall. His face was inscrutable but he remarked his
employer's rudeness.
"I have seen Fisher and he is willing to take a mortgage on Ryecote," he
said. "The interest is higher than I thought, but the money would pay off
urgent bills and cover the cost of the farmstead repairs."
"How much does Fisher want?" Osborn asked and frowned when he was told.
"It's unjust; two per cent above the proper interest."
"I can't borrow for less. However, if we use the money judiciously, we
ought to get something back by higher rents. Lang and Grey, for example,
would pay a little more for the improvements they require."
Osborn pondered. He was in a suspicious mood and thought Hayes wanted to
negotiate the mortgage.
"When I have satisfied the other tenants there won't be much left for
Lang and Grey," he rejoined. "My experience is that the money you sink in
improvements is gone for good."
"They must be made, for all that; particularly just now when a
dissatisfied spirit is spreading among the farmers. Askew is showing them
what can be done by the proper use of capital."
"Askew!" Osborn exclaimed. "Father and son, the Askews have been the
origin of the worst trouble I've had."
Hayes was willing to indulge Osborn's rancor and derived a rather
malicious satisfaction from seeing him annoyed. Besides, he did not want
to dwell upon the mortgage.
"I wonder whether you know Askew has bought Drysdale's sheep?"
"I did not know. I sold the flock to Graham."
"Then Askew must have bought them soon afterwards, unless he sent Graham
to make the deal with you."
Osborn's face got red. "A shabby trick! Unthinkably shabby, after he
forced up the price." He paused, and tried to control his anger. "But why
did he buy that second-class lot?"
"There was a Carlside ram."
"Only fit for mutton; I studied the animal."
"Oh, well! Askew, no doubt, thinks he is a judge. I imagine he bought the
others in order to get the ram."
"He cheated me," said Osborn, with a savage frown. "The fellow's a
cunning rogue. I wish he hadn't come back--confound him!" He pulled
himself up and added: "However, about the mortgage. I suppose I must
agree to Fisher's terms. See him and arrange the thing as soon as
possible."
Hayes went away and Osborn lighted a cigar. He had a disturbing feeling
that he had been rash. The money would not last long and if he had not
borrowed it, he might have paid the interest on other loans. Buying the
sheep had really decided him to give the mortgage, since it had made him
feel keenly the embarrassment of having very little money at command.
There was another thing; Hayes wanted him to borrow the fresh sum,
although a prudent agent would try to keep the estate out of debt. He
could not see Hayes' object and felt suspicious, but while he pondered it
began to rain and he went into the house.
It rained all day and at dusk the mist had crept down the hills. The long
grass in the meadow bent before the deluge and slanted from the wind. The
becks began to roar in the gyhlls, and threads of foam glimmered in the
mist. A hoarse turmoil rose from the stream that fed the tarn, and an
angry flood, stained brown by peat, rose steadily up the dyke. There was
no promise of better weather when Osborn went to bed, and he had known
rain like that last for a week. In fact, he had known all the hay crop
and the most part of the young turnips washed down the valley.
The rain was heavier when, early next morning, Kit went out to move some
sheep from a spot where the rising water might cut them off. He came back
along the meadow dyke and stopped for a few minutes when he reached its
weakest place. Reeds and tufts of heather whirled down the brown flood.
Wide patches of turf and soil had fallen away, uncovering the foundation
of boulders and gravel, and while Kit looked down a heavy stone rolled
out of its place and plunged into the stream. Others were ready to go;
the water was rising ominously fast and would rise for some time after
the rain stopped. There was, however, nothing to indicate that it would
stop, and Kit, knowing his native climate, looked about with some
uneasiness.
A hollow across the meadow to a hedge, behind which were two large turnip
fields, and he knew this marked a former channel of the beck. It was long
since the water had flowed that way, but his father had told him that in
heavy floods it had some times spread across the fields and joined the
other stream at Allerby. If this happened again, the bottom of the dale
would be covered and the crops ruined. When he was going away, three or
four men with picks and spades came up.
"Are you going to mend the dyke?" he asked.
"We're gan to try," said one. "I reckon we'll not can hoad her up if beck
rises much."
"She'll rise three or four feet," said Kit. "Is nobody else coming?"
"Neabody we ken aboot. Mr. Osborn sent to Allerby first thing, but miller
wadn't let him have a man."
Kit thought hard. Bell had given up the mill and his successor had a
dispute with Hayes. To repair the dyke properly would be a long and
expensive business, since there were a number of weak spots, but a dozen
men, working hard, might perhaps strengthen the threatened part
sufficiently to bear the strain. Clearly, if they were to be of use, they
must be found and set to work at once. In a sense, the risk was Osborn's,
who would pay for his neglect, but the flood might damage his tenants'
fields, and even if the damage were confined to Osborn's, Kit hated to
see crops spoiled.
"You had better begin," he said. "I'll try to get help."
"Mayhappen folks will come for you, though they wadn't for t' maister,"
one replied. "We'll need aw you can get before lang."
Kit set off as fast as he could walk and, stopping for a minute at
Ashness, sent his men. Then he went on to Allerby and at first found
the farmers unwilling to move, but after some argument they went with
him to the mill.
"We'll hear what miller has to say," one remarked. "He kens maist aboot
the job, sin' he had t' mend t' lade when Hayes refused. For aw that,
mending dyke is landlord's business."
"I'll not stir a hand to save Osborn's crops," the miller declared when
he met them at the door. "His oad rogue o' an agent promised me he'd
build up brocken lade, but when time came I had to do't mysel'."
Two of the others grumbled about promises Hayes had not kept, and then
Kit said, "All this is not important. I don't ask you to mend the dyke
for Osborn's sake but yours. If the beck breaks through and runs down to
Allerby, it will spoil all the hay and fill the mill-lead with rubbish."
"Then we'll get compensation. Landlord's bound to keep dyke in order."
Kit smiled. "You'll get nothing, unless you go to law and I don't know if
you'll get much then. Hayes is clever and the dispute would be expensive.
You'll certainly find it cheaper to mend the dyke."
They pondered this, until the miller made a sign of agreement.
"I'll not can say you're wrang. I'm coming with my two men."
Kit told him to bring a horse and cart and the party set off for the
threatened bank. The beck had risen while Kit was away and stones and
soil slipped down into the flood. An angry turmoil indicated that the
current had rolled the rubbish into a dam.
"We've gotten our job," said the miller as he drove in his spade.
They got to work, but the current that undermined the bank brought down
the turf and soil with which they tried to fill the holes. It was plain
that a stronger material was needed and Kit sent some men to a
roadmaker's quarry at the bottom of the fell while he rearranged some
harness. When he had finished he fastened an extra horse outside the
shafts of the carts and two men drove the teams across the field. They
went off fast, jolting the carts by their clumsy trot, but Kit knew the
extra horse would be needed when they returned. Soon afterwards, Osborn
came up the other bank and stopped opposite with the rain running off his
mackintosh.
"Has anybody given you leave to meddle with the dyke?" he asked.
"No," said Kit. "We'll let it alone, if you like, but there won't be much
of your hay left when the flood breaks through, and I imagine you could
be made responsible for other damage."
Osborn hesitated and Kit, seeing his frown, began to wonder whether he
would send him away. Then he resumed: "Who engaged these men?"
"I don't know that they are engaged. Anyhow, if there's a difficulty
about their getting paid, I'm accountable."
"Bring them to Tarnside when you have finished," Osborn answered
and went off.
Kit resumed his work with savage energy. He thought Osborn did not
deserve to be helped, but this did not matter much. Others would suffer
unless he finished the job he had undertaken and it almost looked as if
the flood would beat him. The trench from which they dug the soil they
needed filled with water, the spades got slippery with rain and mud,
and the horses sank in the trampled slough. Kit, however, had made his
plans while he looked for help and had forgotten nothing that he might
want. Hammers, drills, and a can of powder had been brought, and now
and then a dull report rolled across the dale and heavy stones crashed
in the quarry.
When he had stone enough he and one or two others stood on the front of
the bank with the water washing round their legs while they built up the
ragged blocks. The pieces were hard to fit and sometimes the rude wall
broke when the men on top threw down the backing of soil. Kit tore his
hand on a sharp corner, but persisted while the blood ran down his
fingers and his wet clothes stuck to his skin. The others supported him
well and he only stopped for breath and to wipe from his eyes the water
that trickled off his soaked hat. The loaded cart, ploughing through the
mire, met the other going back; the men at the quarry kept him supplied,
and when he had made a foundation the bank began to rise. For all that,
the beck rose almost as fast, and at noon they had not gained much on the
flood. Kit was doubtful, but on the whole thought it prudent to let the
men stop. They had worked hard and could not keep it up without a rest.
When they collected with their dinner cans under a dripping hedge, one
remarked: "Mayhappen we'd better wait for Osborn to send cold meat and
ale. I'll mak' a start with bread and cheese."
The others grinned, but Kit got up as he heard a rattle of wheels. "Don't
begin just yet. Two of you go to the gate."
The men came back with a big jar and a basket, and the others gathered
round when Kit took off the clean, wet cloth.
"Yon lunch niver came fra Tarnside; it's ower good and liberal," said
one. "Ashness folk dinna believe in sending a half-empty jar."
When they had eaten and drunk, one or two tried to light their pipes but
gave it up and they got to work again. Kit's hand hurt; it was long since
he had undertaken much manual labor, and his muscles felt horribly stiff.
He knew, however, that the men needed a leader, not a superintendent, and
he would not urge them to efforts he shirked. And a leader was all they
needed. They had no liking for Osborn, but they were stubborn and now
they had begun they meant to finish. Shovels clinked, stones rattled from
the carts, and the pile of earth and rock rose faster than the flood.
In the meantime the mist got thicker and the rain swept the valley. The
long grass near the trench was trodden into pulp where the turf was cut,
the surface of the bank melted, and the men stumbled as they climbed it
with their loads. The wheelbarrows poured down water as well as sticky
soil, and Kit's clothes got stiff with mud. Despite this, he held out
until, in the evening, the strengthened dyke stood high above the stream.
Then he threw down his spade and stretched his aching arms.
"I think she'll hold the water back and we can do no more," said Kit.
The others gathered up their tools and climbing into the carts drove down
the dale. When they reached the Tarnside lodge Kit pulled up.
"You have done a good job for Osborn and there's no reason you shouldn't
get your pay," he said.
Two or three jumped down, without much enthusiasm, and the old gardener
came out and gave one an envelope.
"For Mr. Askew," he remarked.
"Is that all?" the other asked, and the gardener grinned.
"That's all. What did you expect?"
The man took the envelope to Kit and the rest waited with some curiosity.
They were very tired and big drops fell on them as the wind shook the
dripping trees. Kit opened the envelope and his face flushed as he took
out a note addressed to Hayes.
"Pay C. Askew and the men whose names follow one day's wages, on estate
account," it ran.
This was all and the sum noted at the bottom represented the lowest
payment for unskilled labor. Kit handed the note to his companions and
while some laughed ironically two or three swore.