Mr. Hall stood near an open window, breathing the fresh air and scent of flowers, and talking like a brother to Miss Ainley. To him Caroline turned her attention with pleasure. “What should she bring him? He must not help himself – he must be served by her.” And she provided herself with a little salver, that she might offer him variety. Margaret Hall joined them; so did Miss Keeldar. The four ladies stood round their favourite pastor. They also had an idea that they looked on the face of an earthly angel. Cyril Hall was their pope, infallible to them as Dr. Thomas Boultby to his admirers. A throng, too, enclosed the rector of Briarfield – twenty or more pressed round him; and no parson was ever more potent in a circle than old Helstone. The curates, herding together after their manner, made a constellation of three lesser planets. Divers young ladies watched them afar off, but ventured not nigh.
Mr. Helstone produced his watch. “Ten minutes to two,” he announced aloud. “Time for all to fall into line. Come.” He seized his shovel hat and marched away. All rose and followed en masse.
The twelve hundred children were drawn up in three bodies of four hundred souls each; in the rear of each regiment was stationed a band; between every twenty there was an interval, wherein Helstone posted the teachers in pairs. To the van of the armies he summoned,—
“Grace Boultby and Mary Sykes lead out Whinbury.
“Margaret Hall and Mary Ann Ainley conduct Nunnely.
“Caroline Helstone and Shirley Keeldar head Briarfield.”
Then again he gave command,—
“Mr. Donne to Whinbury; Mr. Sweeting to Nunnely; Mr. Malone to Briarfield.”
And these gentlemen stepped up before the lady-generals.
The rectors passed to the full front; the parish clerks fell to the extreme rear. Helstone lifted his shovel hat. In an instant out clashed the eight bells in the tower, loud swelled the sounding bands, flute spoke and clarion answered, deep rolled the drums, and away they marched.
The broad white road unrolled before the long procession, the sun and sky surveyed it cloudless, the wind tossed the tree boughs above it, and the twelve hundred children and one hundred and forty adults of which it was composed trod on in time and tune, with gay faces and glad hearts. It was a joyous scene, and a scene to do good. It was a day of happiness for rich and poor – the work, first of God, and then of the clergy. Let England’s priests have their due. They are a faulty set in some respects, being only of common flesh and blood like us all; but the land would be badly off without them. Britain would miss her church, if that church fell. God save it! God also reform it!
Chapter XVII The School-Feast
Not on combat bent, nor of foemen in search, was this priest-led and woman-officered company; yet their music played martial tunes, and, to judge by the eyes and carriage of some – Miss Keeldar, for instance – these sounds awoke, if not a martial, yet a longing spirit. Old Helstone, turning by chance, looked into her face; and he laughed, and she laughed at him.
“There is no battle in prospect,” he said; “our country does not want us to fight for it. No foe or tyrant is questioning or threatening our liberty. There is nothing to be done. We are only taking a walk. Keep your hand on the reins, captain, and slack the fire of that spirit. It is not wanted, the more’s the pity.”
“Take your own advice, doctor,” was Shirley’s response. To Caroline she murmured, “I’ll borrow of imagination what reality will not give me. We are not soldiers – bloodshed is not my desire – or if we are, we are soldiers of the Cross. Time has rolled back some hundreds of years, and we are bound on a pilgrimage to Palestine. But no; that is too visionary. I need a sterner dream. We are Lowlanders of Scotland, following a Covenanting captain up into the hills to hold a meeting out of the reach of persecuting troopers. We know that battle may follow prayer; and as we believe that in the worst issue of battle heaven must be our reward, we are ready and willing to redden the peat moss with our blood. That music stirs my soul; it wakens all my life; it makes my heart beat – not with its temperate daily pulse, but with a new, thrilling vigour. I almost long for danger – for a faith, a land, or at least a lover to defend.”
“Look, Shirley!” interrupted Caroline. “What is that red speck above Stilbro’ Brow? You have keener sight than I. Just turn your eagle eye to it.”
Miss Keeldar looked. “I see,” she said; then added presently, “there is a line of red. They are soldiers – cavalry soldiers,” she subjoined quickly. “They ride fast. There are six of them. They will pass us. No; they have turned off to the right. They saw our procession, and avoid it by making a circuit. Where are they going?”
“Perhaps they are only exercising their horses.”
“Perhaps so. We see them no more now.”
Mr. Helstone here spoke.
“We shall pass through Royd Lane, to reach Nunnely Common by a short cut,” said he.
And into the straits of Royd Lane they accordingly defiled. It was very narrow – so narrow that only two could walk abreast without falling into the ditch which ran along each side. They had gained the middle of it, when excitement became obvious in the clerical commanders. Boultby’s spectacles and Helstone’s Rehoboam were agitated; the curates nudged each other; Mr. Hall turned to the ladies and smiled.
“What is the matter?” was the demand.
He pointed with his staff to the end of the lane before them. Lo and behold! another, an opposition, procession was there entering, headed also by men in black, and followed also, as they could now hear, by music.
“Is it our double?” asked Shirley, “our manifold wraith? Here is a card turned up.”
“If you wanted a battle, you are likely to get one – at least of looks,” whispered Caroline, laughing.
“They shall not pass us!” cried the curates unanimously; “we’ll not give way!”
“Give way!” retorted Helstone sternly, turning round; “who talks of giving way? You, boys, mind what you are about. The ladies, I know, will be firm. I can trust them. There is not a churchwoman here but will stand her ground against these folks, for the honour of the Establishment. – What does Miss Keeldar say?”
“She asks what is it.”
“The Dissenting and Methodist schools, the Baptists, Independents, and Wesleyans, joined in unholy alliance, and turning purposely into this lane with the intention of obstructing our march and driving us back.”
“Bad manners!” said Shirley, “and I hate bad manners. Of course, they must have a lesson.”
“A lesson in politeness,” suggested Mr. Hall, who was ever for peace; “not an example of rudeness.”
Old Helstone moved on. Quickening his step, he marched some yards in advance of his company. He had nearly reached the other sable leaders, when he who appeared to act as the hostile commander-in-chief – a large, greasy man, with black hair combed flat on his forehead – called a halt. The procession paused. He drew forth a hymn book, gave out a verse, set a tune, and they all struck up the most dolorous of canticles.
Helstone signed to his bands. They clashed out with all the power of brass. He desired them to play “Rule, Britannia!” and ordered the children to join in vocally, which they did with enthusiastic spirit. The enemy was sung and stormed down, his psalm quelled. As far as noise went, he was conquered.
“Now, follow me!” exclaimed Helstone; “not at a run, but at a firm, smart pace. Be steady, every child and woman of you. Keep together. Hold on by each other’s skirts, if necessary.”
And he strode on with such a determined and deliberate gait, and was, besides, so well seconded by his scholars and teachers, who did exactly as he told them, neither running nor faltering, but marching with cool, solid impetus – the curates, too, being compelled to do the same, as they were between two fires, Helstone and Miss Keeldar, both of whom watched any deviation with lynx-eyed vigilance, and were ready, the one with his cane, the other with her parasol, to rebuke the slightest breach of orders, the least independent or irregular demonstration – that the body of Dissenters were first amazed, then alarmed, then borne down and pressed back, and at last forced to turn tail and leave the outlet from Royd Lane free. Boultby suffered in the onslaught, but Helstone and Malone, between them, held him up, and brought him through the business, whole in limb, though sorely tried in wind.