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<h2> CHAPTER XV </h2>
<h3> THE ELLERBYS OF DOVETON </h3>
<blockquote>
The Bawcombes at Doveton Farm—Caleb finds favour with
his master—Mrs. Ellerby and the shepherd's
wife—The passion of a childless wife—The
curse—A story of the "mob"—The attack on the
farm—A man transported for life—The hundred and
ninth Psalm—The end of the Ellerbys
</blockquote>
<p>Caleb and his wife invariably spoke of their time at Doveton
Farm in a way which gave one the idea that they regarded it
as the most important period of their lives. It had deeply
impressed them, and doubtless it was a great change for them
to leave their native village for the first time in their
lives and go long miles from home among strangers to serve a
new master. Above everything they felt leaving the old father
who was angry with them, and had gone to the length of
disowning them for taking such a step. But there was
something besides all this which had served to give Doveton
an enduring place in their memories, and after many talks
with the old couple about their Warminster days I formed the
idea that it was more to them than any other place where they
had lived, because of a personal feeling they cherished for
their master and mistress there.</p>
<p>Hitherto Caleb had been in the service of men who were but a
little way removed in thought and feeling from those they
employed. They were mostly small men, born and bred in the
parish, some wholly self-made, with no interest or knowledge
of anything outside their own affairs, and almost as far
removed as the labourers themselves from the ranks above. The
Ellerbys were of another stamp, or a different class. If not
a gentleman, Mr. Ellerby was very like one and was accustomed
to associate with gentlemen. He was a farmer, descended from
a long line of farmers; but he owned his own land, and was an
educated and travelled man, considered wealthy for a farmer;
at all events he was able to keep his carriage and riding and
hunting horses in his stables, and he was regarded as the
best breeder of sheep in the district. He lived in a good
house, which with its pictures and books and beautiful
decorations and furniture appeared to their simple minds
extremely luxurious. This atmosphere was somewhat
disconcerting to them at first, for although he knew his own
value, priding himself on being a "good shepherd," Caleb had
up till now served with farmers who were in a sense on an
equality with him, and they understood him and he them. But
in a short time the feeling of strangeness vanished:
personally, as a fellow-man, his master soon grew to be more
to him than any farmer he had yet been with. And he saw a
good deal of his master. Mr. Ellerby cultivated his
acquaintance, and, as we have seen, got into the habit of
seeking him out and talking to him even when he was at a
distance out on the down with his flock. And Caleb could not
but see that in this respect he was preferred above the other
men employed on the farm—that he had "found favour" in
his master's eyes.</p>
<p>When he had told me that story about Watch and the
corn-crake, it stuck in my mind, and on the first opportunity
I went back to that subject to ask what it really was that
made his master act in such an extraordinary manner—to
go out on a pouring wet day in a summer suit and straw hat,
and walk a mile or two just to stand there in the rain
talking to him about nothing in particular. What secret
trouble had he—was it that his affairs were in a bad
way, or was he quarrelling with his wife? No, nothing of the
kind; it was a long story—this secret trouble of the
Ellerbys, and with his unconquerable reticence in regard to
other people's private affairs he would have passed it off
with a few general remarks.</p>
<p>But there was his old wife listening to us, and, woman-like,
eager to discuss such a subject, she would not let it pass.
She would tell it and would not be silenced by him: they were
all dead and gone—why should I not be told if I wanted
to hear it? And so with a word put in here and there by him
when she talked, and with a good many words interposed by her
when he took up the tale, they unfolded the story, which was
very long as they told it and must be given briefly here.</p>
<p>It happened that when the Bawcombes settled at Doveton, just
as Mr. Ellerby had taken to the shepherd, making a friend of
him, so Mrs. Ellerby took to the shepherd's wife, and fell
into the habit of paying frequent visits to her in her
cottage. She was a very handsome woman, of a somewhat stately
presence, dignified in manner, and she wore her abundant hair
in curls hanging on each side to her shoulders—a
fashion common at that time. From the first she appeared to
take a particular interest in the Bawcombes, and they could
not but notice that she was more gracious and friendly
towards them than to the others of their station on the farm.
The Bawcombes had three children then, aged six, four, and
two years respectively, all remarkably healthy, with rosy
cheeks and black eyes, and they were merry-tempered little
things. Mrs. Ellerby appeared much taken with the children;
praised their mother for always keeping them so clean and
nicely dressed, and wondered how she could manage it on their
small earnings. The carter and his wife lived in a cottage
close by, and they, too, had three little children, and next
to the carter's was the bailiff's cottage, and he, too, was
married and had children; but Mrs. Ellerby never went into
their cottages, and the shepherd and his wife concluded that
it was because in both cases the children were rather puny,
sickly-looking little things and were never very clean. The
carter's wife, too, was a slatternly woman. One day when Mrs.
Ellerby came in to see Mrs. Bawcombe the carter's wife was
just going out of the door, and Mrs. Ellerby appeared
displeased, and before leaving she said, "I hope, Mrs.
Bawcombe, you are not going to mix too freely with your
neighbours or let your children go too much with them and
fall into their ways." They also observed that when she
passed their neighbours' children in the lane she spoke no
word and appeared not to see them. Yet she was kind to them
too, and whenever she brought a big parcel of cakes, fruit,
and sweets for the children, which she often did, she would
tell the shepherd's wife to divide it into three lots, one
for her own children and the others for those of her two
neighbours. It was clear to see that Mrs. Ellerby had grown
fond of her children, especially of the eldest, the little
rosy-cheeked six-year-old boy. Sitting in the cottage she
would call him to her side and would hold his hand while
conversing with his mother; she would also bare the child's
arm just for the pleasure of rubbing it with her hand and
clasping it round with her fingers, and sometimes when
caressing the child in this way she would turn her face aside
to hide the tears that dropped from her eyes.</p>
<p>She had no child of her own—the one happiness which she
and her husband desired above all things. Six times in their
ten married years they had hoped and rejoiced, although with
fear and trembling, that their prayer would be answered, but
in vain—every child born to them came lifeless into the
world. "And so 'twould always be, for sure," said the
villagers, "because of the curse."</p>
<p>For it was a cause of wonder to the shepherd and his wife
that this couple, so strong and healthy, so noble-looking, so
anxious to have children, should have been so unfortunate,
and still the villagers repeated that it was the curse that
was on them.</p>
<p>This made the shepherd angry. "What be you saying about a
curse that is on them?—a good man and a good woman!" he
would exclaim, and taking up his crook go out and leave them
to their gossip. He would not ask them what they meant; he
refused to listen when they tried to tell him; but in the end
he could not help knowing, since the idea had become a fixed
one in the minds of all the villagers, and he could not keep
it out. "Look at them," the gossipers would say, "as fine a
couple as you ever saw, and no child; and look at his two
brothers, fine, big, strong, well-set-up men, both married to
fine healthy women, and never a child living to any of them.
And the sisters unmarried! 'Tis the curse and nothing else."</p>
<p>The curse had been uttered against Mr. Ellerby's father, who
was in his prime in the year 1831 at the time of the "mob,"
when the introduction of labour-saving machinery in
agriculture sent the poor farm-labourers mad all over
England. Wheat was at a high price at that time, and the
farmers were exceedingly prosperous, but they paid no more
than seven shillings a week to their miserable labourers. And
if they were half-starved when there was work for all, when
the corn was reaped with sickles, what would their condition
be when reaping machines and other new implements of
husbandry came into use? They would not suffer it; they would
gather in bands everywhere and destroy the machinery, and
being united they would be irresistible; and so it came about
that there were risings or "mobs" all over the land.</p>
<p>Mr. Ellerby, the most prosperous and enterprising farmer in
the parish, had been the first to introduce the new methods.
He did not believe that the people would rise against him,
for he well knew that he was regarded as a just and kind man
and was even loved by his own labourers, but even if it had
not been so he would not have hesitated to carry out his
resolution, as he was a high-spirited man. But one day the
villagers got together and came unexpectedly to his barns,
where they set to work to destroy his new thrashing machine.
When he was told he rushed out and went in hot haste to the
scene, and as he drew near some person in the crowd threw a
heavy hammer at him, which struck him on the head and brought
him senseless to the ground.</p>
<p>He was not seriously injured, but when he recovered the work
of destruction had been done and the men had gone back to
their homes, and no one could say who had led them and who
had thrown the hammer. But by and by the police discovered
that the hammer was the property of a shoemaker in the
village, and he was arrested and charged with injuring with
intent to murder. Tried with many others from other villages
in the district at the Salisbury Assizes, he was found guilty
and sentenced to transportation for life. Yet the Doveton
shoemaker was known to every one as a quiet, inoffensive
young man, and to the last he protested his innocence, for
although he had gone with the others to the farm he had not
taken the hammer and was guiltless of having thrown it.</p>
<p>Two years after he had been sent away Mr. Ellerby received a
letter with an Australian postmark on it, but on opening it
found nothing but a long denunciatory passage from the Bible
enclosed, with no name or address. Mr. Ellerby was much
disturbed in his mind, and instead of burning the paper and
holding his peace, he kept it and spoke about it to this
person and that, and every one went to his Bible to find out
what message the poor shoemaker had sent, for it had been
discovered that it was the one hundred and ninth Psalm, or a
great portion of it, and this is what they read:—</p>
<p>"Let the iniquity of his fathers be remembered with the Lord;
and let not the sin of his mother be blotted out.</p>
<p>"Let them be before the Lord continually, that he may cut off
the memory of them from the earth.</p>
<p>"Because that he remembered not to show mercy, but persecuted
the poor and needy man, that he might even slay the broken in
heart.</p>
<p>"As he loved cursing, so let it come unto him; as he
delighted not in blessing, so let it be far from him.</p>
<p>"As he clothed himself with cursing like as with a garment,
so let it come into his bowels like water, and like oil into
his bones.</p>
<p>"Let it be unto him as a garment which covereth him, and for
a girdle wherewith he is girded continually.</p>
<p>"But do Thou for me, O God the Lord, for Thy name's sake. For
I am poor and needy, and my heart is wounded within me.</p>
<p>"I am come like the shadow when it declineth: I am tossed up
and down as the locust.</p>
<p>"My knees are weak through fasting; and my flesh faileth of
fatness."</p>
<p>From that time the hundred and ninth Psalm became familiar to
the villagers, and there were probably not many who did not
get it by heart. There was no doubt in their minds of the
poor shoemaker's innocence. Every one knew that he was
incapable of hurting a fly. The crowd had gone into his shop
and swept him away with them—all were in it; and some
person seeing the hammer had taken it to help in smashing the
machinery. And Mr. Ellerby had known in his heart that he was
innocent, and if he had spoken a word for him in court he
would have got the benefit of the doubt and been discharged.
But no, he wanted to have his revenge on some one, and he
held his peace and allowed this poor fellow to be made the
victim. Then, when he died, and his eldest son succeeded him
at Doveton Farm, and he and the other sons got married, and
there were no children, or none born alive, they went back to
the Psalm again and read and re-read and quoted the words:
"Let his posterity be cut off; and in the generation
following let their name be blotted out." Undoubtedly the
curse was on them!</p>
<p>Alas! it was; the curse was their belief in the curse, and
the dreadful effect of the knowledge of it on a woman's
mind—all the result of Mr. Ellerby the father's fatal
mistake in not having thrown the scrap of paper that came to
him from the other side of the world into the fire. All the
unhappiness of the "generation following" came about in this
way, and the family came to an end; for when the last of the
Ellerbys died at a great age there was not one person of the
name left in that part of Wiltshire.</p>
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