The Scouring of the White Horse

I stopped at the gate, and felt half inclined to go back; but he said something to her, and then she turned round and called me, so I walked up feeling rather sheepish. By the time I got up to them they had finished tying up the creeper, and she introduced me to Mr. Warton, of London. He held out his hand, and said he had often heard Joseph speak of me, and was very glad to meet an old friend of his friend Hurst. So we shook hands, and he began eating his apple again, and she picked up her basket, and we walked together towards the house; but they were so free and pleasant together, and laughed and joked so, that it made me feel rather low, and I couldn’t talk easily, though I did manage to say something about the White Horse, and how well it looked, and what a wonderful place it was up on the hill, when they asked me about it.

I wasn’t sorry when she went in to look after the tea, and he sat down to write a letter. So I went round to the farm-yard to look for Joe, that I might find out from him about this Mr. Warton. I found Joe with his fogger,24 as he called him, looking at some calves, and thinking of nothing but them and the pigs. However, I stuck to him and praised all the beasts just as if I knew all about them, and so at last got him out of the yard; and then I told him there was a Mr. Warton come.

“No! is he?” said he; “I’m so glad. I was afraid he couldn’t come down as he didn’t answer my last letter.”

“Who is he, Joe?” said I.

“Haven’t I told you?” said he; “why, he’s a parson up somewhere in London, and a real right sort. He was curate here for five years before he went up to town.”

“He seems to know you and Miss Lucy very well,” said I.

“Bless you, yes!” said Joe; “Lu was in his school, and he prepared her for confirmation. He’s the best company in the world, and not a bit proud, like some parsons. When he was down here, he used to drop in of an evening two or three times a week, and take his tea, or a bit of supper, just like you might.”

“He’s a good bit older than we, though,” said I.

“Well, four or five years, maybe,” said Joe, looking rather surprised at me; “I should say he was about thirty last grass, but I never asked him; what does it matter?” and so we got to the front door, and I went up-stairs to my room to wash my hands before tea. I made myself as smart as I could, but I own I didn’t half like the way this Mr. Warton went on. However, I thought Miss Lucy must see he was too old for her.

As I was dressing, I turned the matter over with myself, how I was to behave down stairs. First, I thought I would try to ride the high horse, and be silent and vexed, and make them all uncomfortable; but then, thought I, will Miss Lucy see why I do it? It may be all out of love for her, and jealousy of this Mr. Warton; and they say no young woman dislikes to see men jealous about her. But suppose she shouldn’t see it in that light? Mightn’t she only think, perhaps, that I was a very changeable and disagreeable sort of fellow? That would never do. Besides, after all, thought I, I’m down here at Joe’s house, and I owe it to him to be as pleasant as I can. How’s he to know that I am in love with his sister already? And this Mr. Warton, too; he’s a clergyman, and seems a very good sort, as Joe said; and then he has known them all so well, for so long; why am I to give myself airs because he likes talking to Miss Lucy? So I settled it in my own mind to go down with a smiling face, and to do all I could to make all the rest happy; and I felt much better myself when I had made up my mind.

There never was such a tea and supper (for we had them both together that night, as it was late) in the world; and I don’t think I could have stood out five minutes if I had gone down in the sulks, as I thought of doing at first. The old lady, and Joe, and Miss Lucy, were all in great spirits at getting Mr. Warton down; and he was just like a boy home for his holidays. He joked and rattled away about every thing; except when they talked about any of his old parishioners or scholars, and then he was as kind and tender as a woman, and remembered all their names, and how many children there were in every family, and the sort of mistakes the boys and girls used to make in school. And he drew Miss Lucy out about the school, and Joe about the markets and the labourers, and the old lady about the best way of pickling cabbages, and me about London and my work, and shorthand, which he managed to find out that I could write in no time. So we were all in the best humour in the world, and pleased with one another and with him; and spent half an hour in praising him after he had gone up stairs to finish some writing which he had to do.

Then I asked them about the pastime, and what we should see next day on the hill. Miss Lucy began directly about the stalls and the sights, and the racing and the music; and cold dinner on the hill-side, and seeing all her friends in their best dresses. Joe listened to her for a bit, and then struck in —

“That’s all very well for you women,” said he; “but look here, Dick. If what I hear comes true, we shall have a fine treat on the stage; for they tells me there’s a lot of the best old gamesters in Somersetshire coming up, to put in for the backsword prizes.”

“Then I’m sure I hope they won’t be allowed to play,” said Miss Lucy.

“Not let to play!” said Joe; “who put that into your head? Why, there’s the printed list of the sports, and £12 prize for backswording, and £10 for wrestling.”

“Well, it’s a great shame, then,” said Miss Lucy; “for all the respectable people for miles round will be on the hill, and I think the gentlemen ought to stop them.”

“If they do, they’ll spoil the pastime; for there won’t be one man in twenty up there who’ll care to see any thing else. Eh, old fellow?” said Joe, turning to me.

“I agree with Miss Lucy,” said I; “for I’m sure if the women are against these games, they can’t be good for the men, and ought to be put down.”

“Dick, you’re a cockney, and know no better,” said Joe, giving me a great spank on the back, which hurt a good deal and was very disagreeable, only I didn’t say any thing because I knew he meant it kindly; “but as for you, Lucy, you, a west-country yeoman’s daughter, to talk like that! If you don’t take care, you shan’t go up the hill to the pastime to-morrow at all; I’ll leave you at home with mother,” and he shook his great fist at her.

“Won’t I go up though?” said she, laughing; “we’ll see, Master Joe; why, I can walk up by myself, if it comes to that; besides, any of the neighbours will give me a lift – or here’s Mr. Richard, or Mr. Warton. I’m sure – ”

“What’s that you’re saying, Miss Lucy? What am I to do, eh?” and the parson walked in just as I was going to speak. I was vexed at his just coming in, and taking the word out of my mouth.

“Why I was telling Joe that you’ll stop and take me up the hill, if he leaves me behind; won’t you now, Mr. Warton?”

“Leave you behind, indeed! here’s a pretty to do!” said he, laughing. “What in the world are you all talking about?”

“About the wrestling and backsword play,” struck in Joe; “now she says – ”

“Well, now, I’ll leave it to Mr. Warton,” said Miss Lucy, interrupting him; “I know he won’t say it’s right for men to be fighting upon a high stage before all the country side.”

“Stuff and nonsense with your fighting!” said Joe; “you know, Sir, very well that they are old English games, and we sets great store by them down here, though some of our folk as ought to know better does set their faces against them now-a-days.”

“Yes, you know, Joe, that three or four clergymen have been preaching against them only last Sunday,” said Miss Lucy.

“Then they ain’t the right sort, or they’d know better what to preach against. I don’t take all for Gospel that the parsons say, mind you,” said Joe.

Miss Lucy looked shocked, but Mr. Warton only laughed.

“Hullo, Joseph,” said he, “speaking evil of your spiritual pastors! However, I won’t say you’re altogether wrong. Parsons are but men.”

“But, Sir,” said I, quite confidently, “I’m sure no clergyman can stand up for fighting and quarrelling.”

“Of course not,” said he; “but what then?”

“Well, Sir, these sports, as they call them, are just fighting, and nothing else, and lead to all sorts of quarrels and bad blood, and so – ”

“They don’t lead to nothing of the kind,” shouted Joe; “and you know nothing about it, Dick.”

“Now, Joe, at our last feast,” said Miss Lucy, “didn’t Reuben Yates get his head broken, and his arms all black and blue at backsword play?”

“Yes, and didn’t you and mother patch him up with yards of diachylum, and give him his supper every night for a week, to come and be doctored and lectured? Rube liked his suppers well enough, and didn’t mind the plastering and lecturing much; but if he don’t go in to-morrow for the young gamesters’ prize, my name ain’t Joe Hurst.”

“Then he’ll be a very ungrateful, wicked fellow,” said Miss Lucy.

“And you and mother won’t give him any more suppers or diachylum,” said Joe; “but I dare say he won’t break his heart if you don’t give him the preaching by itself. It does seem to me plaguy hard that the women won’t let a man get his own head broke quietly, when he has a mind to it.”

“And there was Simon Withers, too,” went on Miss Lucy, “he sprained his ankle at the wrestling, and was in the house for three weeks, and his poor old mother nearly starving.”

“’Twasn’t at wrestling, though,” said Joe, “’twas at hurdle-racing. He’d much better have been at backsword; for a chap can go to work with a broken head next morning, and feel all the better for it, but he can’t with a sprained ankle.”

“What does Mr. Warton think?” said I; for somehow he was keeping back, and seemed a little on Joe’s side, and if he showed that, I thought he would lose ground with Miss Lucy.

“Oh! I’m sure Mr. Warton is on our side, ain’t you, Sir? Do tell Joe how wrong it is of him to go on talking as he does.”

“No, no, Miss Lucy, I’m not going to be drawn into the quarrel as your knight; you’re quite able to take your own part,” said Mr. Warton.

“I’m sure Mr. Warton is against us in his heart,” said I to Miss Lucy; “only he’s a clergyman, and doesn’t like to say so.”

“Come, now, I can’t stand that,” said he to me; “and you and I must have it out; only mind, Miss Lucy, you mustn’t come in; one at a time is enough for me.”

“I won’t say a word, Sir, if Joe won’t.”

“Very well,” said he, “and now let’s get our ground clear. Do you approve of the other sports, running matches, jumping matches, and all the rest?”

“Yes, Sir, of course I do,” said I.

“And you see no harm in one man beating another in a race for a prize?”

“No, Sir, no harm at all.”

“Well, but I suppose one must have activity and endurance to win in any of them?”

“Yes,” said I, “and good pluck, too, Sir. It takes as much heart, I’m sure, any day, to win a hard race as a bout at backsword.”

“Very good,” said he. “Then putting every thing else aside, tell me which you think the best man, he who doesn’t mind having his head broken, or he who does?”

“Well, Sir,” said I, beginning to fence a bit, for I thought I saw what he was driving at, “that depends on circumstances.”

“No, no,” said he, “I want a short answer. We’ve nothing to do with circumstances. Suppose there were no circumstances in the world, and only two men with heads to be broken?”

“Well, then, Sir,” said I, “I suppose the one who doesn’t mind having his head broken, must be the best man.”

“Hah, hah!” laughed Joe, “that puts me in mind of old Ben Thomson last feast. When he threw up his hat on the stage, he said he could get his pint of beer any day for tuppence, but it wasn’t every day as he could get his pint of beer and a broken head too for the same money.”

“Oh, but Mr. Warton – ” broke in Miss Lucy.

“Now, you were not to say a word, you know,” said he.

“But Joe began, Sir.”

“Joseph, hold your tongue.”

“Very well, Sir,” said Joe, grinning.

“Then we come to this,” said he to me, “a man must have just the same qualities to win at backsword as to win a race; and something else besides, which is good in itself?”

“But, Sir,” said I, “that doesn’t meet the point. What I say is, that backsword is a game in which men are sure to lose their tempers and become brutal.”

“But don’t they sometimes lose their tempers in races?” said he.

“Yes, sometimes, perhaps,” said I, “but not often.”

“And sometimes they don’t lose them at backsword?” said he.

“Well, perhaps not, Sir.”

“Then it seems that all that can be said against backsword is, that it is a harder trial of the temper than other games. Surely that’s no reason for stopping it, but only for putting it under strict rules. The harder the trial the better. I’m sure that’s good English sense.”

I didn’t quite know what to say, but Miss Lucy broke in again.

“Oh, but Mr. Warton, did you ever see any backsword play?”

“Now, Miss Lucy, that is against law,” said he; “but I don’t mind answering. I never did, and I dare say your champion never has.”

“No, Sir,” said I; “but though you may have got the best of me, I don’t believe you really mean that you think us wrong.”

“Would you, really, Sir, preach a sermon now in favour of backsword play and wrestling?” asked Miss Lucy, with a long face.

“What’s that got to do with it, Lucy?” broke in Joe. “We’re not talking about preaching sermons, but about what’s right for country chaps to do at pastimes.”

“Now, Joseph, I’m not going to ride off on any hobby of yours – besides, your sister’s test is right. Several of your clergy about here have preached against these games, as was their duty if they had considered the subject well, and thought them wrong. I have never thought much about the matter till to-night. At present I think your clergy wrong. If I hold to that belief I would preach it; for I hope I never seriously say any thing in the parlour which I wouldn’t say in the pulpit.”

Just then, the tall clock in the passage outside gave a sort of cluck, which meant half-past nine o’clock, and Joe jumped up and opened the door for the servants, and gave Mr. Warton the prayer-book. And then as soon as ever prayers were over, he bustled his mother and sister off to bed, though I could see that Miss Lucy wasn’t half satisfied in her mind about the backsword play and wrestling, and wanted to stay and hear something more from Mr. Warton. But Joe is always in a hurry for his pipe when half-past nine strikes, so we all had to humour him, and Mr. Warton and I went with him into the kitchen to smoke our pipes.