The Poacher; Or, Joseph Rushbrook

There was no footpath at the side of the road to which Joey retreated, but a very thick quick-set hedge, much too strong for any man to force his way through. Joey perceived this; and as the man came at him to seize his bundle, he contrived, by a great effort, to swing it over the hedge into the field on the other side. The man, exasperated at this measure on the part of our hero, ran to seize him; but Joey dodged under him, and ran away down the road for a few yards, where he picked up a heavy stone for his defence, and there remained, prepared to defend himself, and not lose his bundle if he could help it.

“You get hold of him, Bill, while I go round for the bundle,” said the man who had followed across the road, and he immediately set off to find the gate, or some entrance into the field, while the other man made after Joey. Our hero retreated at full speed; the man followed, but could not keep pace with our hero, as the road was newly-gravelled, and he had no shoes. Joey, perceiving this, slackened his pace, and when the man was close to him, turned short round, and aiming the stone with great precision, hit him on the forehead, and the fellow fell down senseless. In the meantime the other miscreant had taken the road in the opposite direction to look for the gate; and Joey, now rid of his assailant, perceived that in the hedge, opposite to the part of the road where he now stood, there was a gap which he could get through. He scrambled into the field, and ran for his bundle. The other man, who had been delayed, the gate being locked, and fenced with thorns, had but just gained the field when Joey had his bundle in his possession. Our hero caught it up, and ran like lightning to the gap, tossed over his bundle, and followed it, while the man was still a hundred yards from him. Once more in the high road, Joey took to his heels, and having run about two hundred yards, he looked back to ascertain if he was pursued, and perceived the man standing over his comrade, who was lying where he had fallen. Satisfied that he was now safe, Joey pursued his journey at a less rapid rate, although he continued to look back every minute, just by way of precaution; but the fellows, although they would not lose an opportunity of what appeared such an easy robbery, had their own reasons for continuing their journey, and getting away from that part of the country.

Our hero pursued his way for two miles, looking out for some water by the wayside to quench his thirst, when he observed in the distance that there was something lying on the roadside. As he came nearer, he made it out to be a man prostrate on the grass, apparently asleep, and a few yards from where the man lay was a knife-grinder’s wheel, and a few other articles in the use of a travelling tinker; a fire, nearly extinct, was throwing up a tiny column of smoke, and a saucepan, which appeared to have been upset, was lying beside it. There was something in the scene before him which created a suspicion in the mind of our hero that all was not right; so, instead of passing on, he walked right up to where the man lay, and soon discovered that his face and dress were bloody. Joey knelt down by the side of him, and found that he was senseless, but breathing heavily. Joey untied the handkerchief which was round his neck, and which was apparently very tight, and almost immediately afterwards the man appeared relieved and opened his eyes. After a little time he contrived to utter one word, “Water!” and Joey, taking up the empty saucepan, proceeded in search of it. He soon found some, and brought it back. The tinker had greatly recovered during his absence, and as soon as he had drunk the water, sat upright.

“Don’t leave me, boy,” said the tinker; “I feel very faint.”

“I will stay by you as long as I can be of any use to you,” replied Joey; “what has happened?”

“Robbed and almost murdered!” replied the man, with a groan.

“Was it by those two rascals without shoes and stockings who attempted to rob me?” inquired Joey.

“Yes, the same, I’ve no doubt. I must lie down for a time, my head is so bad,” replied the man, dropping back upon the grass.

In a few minutes the exhausted man fell asleep, and Joey remained sitting by his side for nearly two hours. At last, his new companion awoke, raised himself up, and, dipping his handkerchief into the saucepan of water, washed the blood from his head and face.

“This might have been worse, my little fellow,” said he to Joey, after he had wiped his face; “one of those rascals nearly throttled me, he pulled my handkerchief so tight. Well, this is a wicked world, this, to take away a fellow-creature’s life for thirteenpence-halfpenny, for that was all the money they found in my pocket. I thought an itinerant tinker was safe from highway robbery, at all events. Did you not say that they attacked you, or did I dream it?”

“I did say so; it was no dream.”

“And how did a little midge like you escape?”

Joey gave the tinker a detail of what had occurred.

“Cleverly done, boy, and kindly done now to come to my help, and to remain by me. I was going down the road, and as you have come down, I presume we are going the same way,” replied the tinker.

“Do you feel strong enough to walk now?”

“Yes, I think I can; but there’s the grindstone.”

“Oh, I’ll wheel that for you.”

“Do, that’s a good boy, for I tremble very much, and it would be too heavy for me now.”

Joey fixed his bundle with the saucepan, etcetera, upon the knife-grinder’s wheel, and rolled it along the road, followed by the tinker, until they came to a small hamlet, about two miles from the spot from which they had started; they halted when they were fifty yards from the first cottage, and the tinker, having selected a dry place under the hedge, said, “I must stop here a little while?”

Joey, who had heard the tinker say that the men had robbed him of thirteenpence-halfpenny, imagined that he was destitute, and as he wished to proceed on his way, he took out two shillings, and held them out to the man, saying, “This will keep you till you can earn some more. Good-bye now; I must go on.”

The tinker looked at Joey. “You’re a kind-hearted lad, at all events, and a clever, bold one, if I mistake not,” said he; “put up your money, nevertheless, for I do not want any. I have plenty, if they had only known where to look for it.”

Joey was examining his new companion during the time that he was speaking to him. There was a free and independent bearing about the man, and a refinement of manner and speech very different from what might be expected from one in so humble a situation. The tinker perceived this scrutiny, and, after meeting our hero’s glance, said, “Well, what are you thinking of now?”

“I was thinking that you have not always been a tinker.”

“And I fancy that you have not always been a sailor, my young master; but, however, oblige me by going into the village and getting some breakfast for us. I will pay you the money when you return, and then we can talk a little.”

Joey went into the village, and finding a small chandler’s shop, bought some bread and cheese, and a large mug which held a quart of beer, both of which he also purchased, and then went back to the tinker. As soon as they had made their breakfast, Joey rose up and said—“I must go on now; I hope you’ll find yourself better to-morrow.”

“Are you in a very great hurry, my lad?” inquired the tinker. “I want to find some employment,” replied Joey; “and, therefore, I must look for it.”

“Tell me what employment you want. What can you do?”

“I don’t exactly know; I have been keeping accounts for a person.”

“Then you are a scholar, and not a seafaring person?”

“I am not a sailor, if you mean that; but I have been on the river.”

“Well, if you wish to get employment, as I know this country well and a great many people, I think I may help you. At all events, a few days can make no difference; for you see, my boy, to-morrow I shall be able to work, and then, I’ll answer for it, I’ll find meat and drink for both of us, so, what do you say? Suppose you stay with me, and we’ll travel together for a few days, and when I have found work that will suit you, then we can part?”

“I will if you wish it,” replied Joey.

“Then that’s agreed,” said the tinker; “I should like to do you a good turn before we part, and I hope I shall be able; at all events, if you stay with me a little while, I will teach you a trade which will serve you when all others fail.”

“What, to mend kettles and to grind knives?”

“Exactly; and, depend upon it, if you would be sure of gaining your livelihood, you will choose a profession which will not depend upon the caprice of others, or upon patronage. Kettles, my boy, will wear out, knives will get blunt, and, therefore, for a good trade, give me ‘kettles to mend, knives to grind.’ I’ve tried many trades, and there is none that suits me so well. And now that we’ve had our breakfast, we may just as well look out for lodgings for the night, for I suppose you would not like the heavens for your canopy, which I very often prefer. Now, put yourself to the wheel, and I’ll try my old quarters.”

The knife-grinder walked into the village, followed by Joey, who rolled the wheel, until they stopped at a cottage, where he was immediately recognised and welcomed. Joey was ordered to put the wheel under a shed, and then followed the tinker into the cottage. The latter told his story, which created a good deal of surprise and indignation, and then complained of his head and retired to lie down, while Joey amused himself with the children. They ate and slept there that night, the people refusing to take anything for their reception. The next day the tinker was quite recovered, and having mended a kettle and ground three or four knives for his hostess, he set off again, followed by Joey, who rolled the wheel.

Chapter Twenty Eight

On the Science of Tinkering and the Art of Writing Despatches

They had proceeded about two miles when the tinker said—“Come, my lad, let us sit down now, and rest ourselves a bit, for it is past noon, and you must be tired with shoving that wheel along. I would have taken it from you before this, but the fact is, I’m rather stiff yet about the head and shoulders; I feel it more than I thought I should. Here’s a nice spot; I like to sit down under a tree, not too well covered with leaves, like this ash; I like to see the sunshine playing here and there upon the green grass, shifting its spots as the leaves are rustled by the wind. Now, let us lie down here, and not care a fig for the world. I am a philosopher; do you know that?”

“I don’t exactly know what it means; a very clever, good man—is it not?”

“Well, not exactly; a man may be a philosopher without being very good, or without being very clever. A philosopher is a man who never frets about anything, cares about nothing, is contented with a little, and doesn’t envy any one who appears better off than himself, at least that is my school of philosophy. You stare, boy, to hear a tinker talk in this way—I perceive that; but you must know that I am a tinker by choice; and I have tried many other professions before, all of which have disgusted me.”

“What other professions have you been?”

“I have been—let me see—I almost forget; but I’ll begin at the beginning. My father was a gentleman, and until I was fourteen years old I was a gentleman, or the son of one; then he died, and that profession was over, for he left nothing; my mother married again, and left me; she left me at school, and the master kept me there for a year, in hopes of being paid; but, hearing nothing of my mother, and not knowing what to do with me, he at last (for he was a kind man) installed me as under usher of the school; for, you see, my education had been good, and I was well qualified for the situation, as far as capability went: it was rather a bathos, though, to sink from a gentleman’s son to an under usher; but I was not a philosopher at that time. I handed the toast to the master and mistress, the head ushers and parlour boarders, but was not allowed any myself; I taught Latin and Greek, and English Grammar, to the little boys, who made faces at me, and put crooked pins on the bottom of my chair; I walked at the head of the string when they went out for an airing, and walked upstairs the last when it was time to go to bed. I had all the drudgery, and none of the comforts I was up first, and held answerable for all deficiencies; I had to examine all their nasty little trowsers, and hold weekly conversation with the botcher, as to the possibility of repairs; to run out if a hen cackled, that the boys should not get the egg; to wipe the noses of my mistress’s children, and carry them if they roared; to pay for all broken glass, if I could not discover the culprit to account for all bad smells, for all noise, and for all ink spilled; to make all the pens, and to keep one hundred boys silent and attentive at church; for all which, with deductions, I received 40 pounds a year, and found my own washing. I stayed two years, during which time I contrived to save about 6 pounds; and with that, one fine morning, I set off on my travels, fully satisfied that, come what would, I could not change for the worse.”

“Then you were about in the position that I’m in now,” said Joey, laughing.

“Yes, thereabouts; only a little older, I should imagine. I set off with good hopes, but soon found that nobody wanted educated people—they were a complete drug. At last I obtained a situation as waiter, at a posting-house on the road, where I ran along all day long to the tinkling of bells, with hot brandy-and-water ever under my nose; I answered all the bells, but the head-waiter took all the money. However, I made acquaintances there; and at last obtained a situation as clerk to a corn-chandler, where I kept the books; but he failed, and then I was handed over to the miller, and covered with flour for the whole time I was in his service. I stayed there till I had an offer from a coal-merchant (that was going from white to black); but, however, it was a better place. Then, by mere chance, I obtained the situation of clerk on board of a fourteen-gun brig, and cruised in the Channel for six months; but, as I found that there was no chance of being a purser, and as I hated the confinement and discipline of a man-of-war, I cut and run as soon as I obtained my pay. Then I was shopman at a draper’s, which was abominable, for if the customers would not buy the goods, I got all the blame; besides, I had to clean my master’s boots and my mistress’s shoes, and dine in the kitchen on scraps, with a slipshod, squinting girl, who made love to me. Then I was a warehouseman; but they soon tacked on to it the office of light porter, and I had to carry weights enough to break my back. At last I obtained a situation as foreman in a tinman and cutler’s shop, and by being constantly sent into the workshop I learnt something of the trade; I had made up my mind not to remain much longer, and I paid attention, receiving now and then a lesson from the workmen, till I found that I could do very well; for, you see, it’s a very simple sort of business, after all.”

“But still a travelling tinker is not so respectable as being in any of the situations you were in before,” replied Joey.

“There I must beg your pardon, my good lad; I had often serious thoughts upon the subject, and I argued as follows:– What is the best profession in this world of ours?—That of a gentleman; for a gentleman does not work, he has liberty to go where he pleases, he is not controlled, and is his own master. Many a man considers himself a gentleman who has not the indispensables that must complete the profession. A clerk in the Treasury, or public offices, considers himself a gentleman; and so he is by birth, but not by profession; for he is not his own master, but is as much tied down to his desk as the clerk in a banker’s counting-house, or in a shop. A gentleman by profession must be his own master, and independent; and how few there are in this world who can say so! Soldiers and sailors are obliged to obey orders, and therefore I do not put them down as perfect gentlemen, according to my ideas of what a gentleman should be. I doubt whether the prime minister can be considered a gentleman until after he is turned out of office. Do you understand me, boy?”

“O yes, I understand what you mean by a gentleman; I recollect reading a story of a negro who came to this country, and who said that the pig was the only gentleman in the country, for he was the only living being who did not work.”

“The negro was not far wrong,” resumed the tinker. “Well, after thinking a long while, I came to the decision that, as I could not be a perfect gentleman, I would be the nearest thing to it that was possible; and I considered that the most enviable situation was that of a travelling tinker. I learned enough of the trade, saved money to purchase a knife-grinder’s wheel, and here I have been in this capacity for nearly ten years.”

“And do you hold to the opinion that you formed?”