When Charles the First Was King

Up and about was he at five in summer and six in winter, and would roundly rate any man that came to stall or stable a minute later than those hours. For he himself was abed by nine o’ the clock, and could not understand why a man wanted more than eight hours’ sleep. Once up, he would bustle about from stable to mistal, from barn to rickyard, urging on his men with cheery voice or honest scolding⁠—for he was a scrupulously fair master, and praised or blamed as need arose⁠—and seeing the day’s labour fairly commenced, until half-past seven, when breakfast was served in our great kitchen, and master and men sat down together. A custom, indeed, it hath always been in our family, and one which I have religiously preserved, for all under the roof to eat together, according to their various station of life. Thus my father and mother sat at a cross-table with Lucy and myself, and the men were placed in order at long tables set out on either side of the great kitchen. Nor did the meat served at our table differ from that served at our servants’, for it was my father’s opinion that master and man, who shared the toils of the land, should also share the produce thereof, wherefore no man of ours was ever stinted of beef or beer or bread.

My father’s mode of life was as simple and regular as well could be. After breakfast⁠—whereat he always drank no more than a quart of small ale, holding that no one should drink much liquor before noon⁠—he went forth to ride round his fields, mounted on a little white mare named Dumpling, which was an animal of exceeding strength though low stature. How many miles he had ridden upon Dumpling, I know not; yet Jack Drumbleforth, our parson’s son, did once compute it at some thousands. Nor was Jack far out in his reckoning, for my father and Dumpling were used to turn out of the yard as the kitchen clock struck nine, and did not appear again until noon, the intervening hours being passed in riding up one field and down another, or in cantering along the road to Darrington to give an order to blacksmith or carpenter. After dinner in the great kitchen, my father would smoke a pipe in my mother’s parlour, and drink a glass of strong waters, and maybe fall asleep for the space of half an hour, after which he would arise and shake himself, and go forth and mount Dumpling once more and ride out amongst his men. And at suppertime he would talk to my mother of the day’s doings and the weather, and would then smoke more tobacco⁠—which habit was then becoming popular⁠—and drink ale out of his own silver flagon, and at nine o’clock would lock up his house and go to bed, where he slept, as he himself hath often said, without dream or even turning over, until the cocks began to crow in the yard outside.

Upon Saturdays it was my father’s custom, having eaten a larger breakfast than usual, to attire himself in his second-best suit of clothes, and make ready to ride into Pontefract market. There were times when my mother went with him, and then the light cart was brought out of the shed, and Dobbin, the brown horse, harnessed in the shafts, for Dumpling would never abide other gear than a saddle. When my father went alone, however, Dumpling was extra well groomed, and wore the new bridle and stirrups, and the two departed about ten o’clock, my father carrying little bags of wheat or barley samples in his pockets, to show to them that dealt in such matters. Other produce which went to market, or stock like cattle or sheep, was taken thither by Jacob Trusty or Timothy Grass earlier in the morning. All day long would my father remain at market, dining at the farmers’ ordinary, and when business was done remaining an hour longer to drink with his friends and acquaintance. Nevertheless, he always strove to arrive at his home ere night fell, for the road was here and there of a lonely nature, and there were dangerous characters abroad.

Once, indeed, coming home from Pontefract market, my father did light upon an adventure which had been like to put an end to him forever. It chanced that Jacob Trusty, our cowherd, had that day driven four-and-twenty young beasts to market, and there my father speedily sold them to Richard Myles, the butcher, who paid him for the same openly in the street. And as they were counting the money my father took notice of two evil-looking men, habited like north-country cattle-drovers, who hung about in the crowd and cast longing glances at Dick Myles’s bag of money. Howbeit, he lost sight of them and thought no more upon the matter. But riding homewards, between the crossroads at Darrington and Dale’s Field, and being come to the great plantation which occurs ’twixt the milestones, two men mounted did suddenly ride out of the trees, and commanded him to halt and deliver. Whereupon, Dumpling, responding, shot out like an arrow and flew homewards, and my father, bending low over her shoulders, heard two bullets whistle above his head. And the men following hard, it became a question whether or not they would come up to him before Dale’s Field was reached. More than one shot did they fire, but Dumpling galloped fast, and outstripped the taller brutes ridden by the highwaymen. But when the yard gate was reached the pursuers were almost upon them, and if it had not been that my mother heard the unwonted clatter of Dumpling’s feet, my father had been slain at his own door. Howbeit, she, hearing the commotion, opened the house-door, and my father leaping off, entered, bringing Dumpling with him, and barred the door behind them. And while Dumpling and my mother, the one trembling and all