‘Nothing,’ said Sam. ‘So long as ye rejoice in the Lord, through work or through play. But the greatest joy of all, Ned, be in the salvation of the spirit through cleansing repentance—’
‘Aye,’ said Paul Daniel, a fallen convert, ‘I seen you over to Blackwater. Twas four or five year agone. How old are ee, Sam?’
‘Twenty-five—’
‘Then ye’d be scarce more’n twenty when I seen ee. I reckon—’
‘What I had in mind,’ shouted Tholly between gasps, ‘was t’ave a real ’nation feast day like there’s never been not before. How ’bout you wrastling, Sam? And you, Drake. More the merrier. And you, Tom; and you, Ned. The more the—’
‘I’m wrastling any’ow,’ said Tom Harry, with a grim smirk. ‘Wrastling wi’ you too, aren’t I, Emma?’
‘Go on with you! That’ll be the day—’
‘We’d best be off,’ said Sam to Drake. ‘I have a class at sundown—’
‘’Ere,’ said Tom, thrusting past Emma. ‘’Ow ’bout you, baby brother? You never learned to wrastle, eh? Scared to get yer breeches ploshy, eh? Scared you might get yer muggets pulled out, eh?’
‘I’m scared of fighting you,’ said Drake, ‘when it’s three to one.’
Tom, empurpled, made a sharp rush at Drake, but both Sam and Ned got in his way, and for a few seconds there was a lot of confusion and noise. As the entangled figures separated Tom could be heard shouting that he’d fight either of the Carne meaders with one hand tied behind his back, and break them across his knee. The two women had become equally involved in the struggle, the only one taking absolutely no part being Drake, who stood exactly where he was in the centre of it all, his face composed and set.
After a while he found Tholly Tregirls peering into his face, the flattened nose and puckered scar making Tholly look like some masked performer representing evil at a Miracle play.
‘No offence meant, young Carne. Our Tom’s a bit hot, like, hot off the mark, like, but no offence. You like to wrastle on Thursday sennight, eh? Or race? You looks as if ye could race.’
‘No,’ said Drake. ‘I’m not in a feasting mood.’
Tom Harry and Sam were staring at each other, Emma holding on to Harry’s arm, though it was hard to tell if this were to restrain him or support herself.
Harry said: ‘How ’bout you’n me fighting, eh? Wrastling. Fair and proper. If your baby brother don’t like to wrastle, how ’bout you’n me. If you’re so careful to keep me off baby brother.’
Drake said: ‘If I fight you, jack, it won’t be wrestling.’
‘Nay, brother,’ Sam said. ‘Leave off this useless quarrelling. Twill do no good at all. But I shall hope even so that—’
‘I’ll fight any way you say!’ Harry roared at Drake, baring his teeth. ‘Fists, sticks, knives—’
‘Hush, hush—’ Emma had her fingers over his mouth. She squealed as he gave a playful bite at them. ‘Why don’t ee fight ’im, Sam, show who’s master! Great lerrup! You nipped my fingers! Fight him, Sam! Wrestling, I mean, with a stickler ’n all. Fair and proper and on top of the board.’
‘Come away, Drake,’ said Sam, making a move up the hill.
Tom Harry was trying to wind his arms round Emma, but she gave him a hearty thrust to free herself, and he staggered back into Daniel, who cursed him for stepping on his foot.
‘Right!’ said Tholly. ‘That’s of it! Special match, eh? All on top of the board. A guinea for the winner. How’s that, Sam? Guinea for your preaching house if ye win? See the—’
‘I’ll lay a shillun on Sam!’ shouted Ned Bottrell, who before now had fallen foul of both Harry brothers. ‘Even money. Come on, Sam. We’d all be there to see he fought fair!’
‘Yes, come on, Sam,’ said Daniel. ‘Make a change now, wouldn’t it? Wrestling preacher!’
‘Guinea the winner!’ shouted Sally. ‘Nay, I’ll make it two guineas!’
The way being narrow and the movement up and down considerable, a crowd of about thirty had now gathered, and others began to press the match. Two motives combined in the enthusiasm: the first, a special challenge wrestling match with a bit of spite in it had a great appeal; the second, Tom Harry, for all his attempts to mix in village life, was second only to his brother in unpopularity, and any attempt to take him down a peg would be universally welcomed.
Sam, however, was having nothing of it. Smiling his grave thin smile, he told them that his way was no longer the way of violence, even if it was only the violence of sport. Let others have their games; the Lord had chosen him, however unworthy, to witness as in a glass the glory of God and to work early and late for the liberation of souls—
He was interrupted in this impromptu sermon by Emma, who had freed herself from Tom Harry’s clutches and now stood right in front of Sam, her hair flowing loose, and shouted at him: ‘What about my soul!’
Sam smiled at her, though his eyes were suddenly dark. ‘Yours, Emma? I just said I pray each night of my life for that.’
‘A lot of good it do me,’ said Emma, and there was a general laugh. ‘I feel no betterer. Honest, Sam. What’s wrong? Polish my soul every night, I do, shine it up bright as a door knob. Don’t do no good at all.’
Everybody laughed again.
Sam said: ‘Sister, you should come meetings. Then we would all pray together.’
‘Mebbe I would,’ she said, ‘if you beat him!’ She gestured at Harry with a thumb. Harry grimaced in the background.
‘Sister,’ Sam said. ‘I’m sorry but tis no jesting matter. If my words could but reach your heart, twould be a different concern—’
‘Oh,’ said Emma. ‘I thought you was serious. I thought you wanted to save me.’
‘I do. You know I do. Tis one of the dearest wishes—’
‘All right,’ she said, hands on hips. ‘Fight this lerrup and beat him fair Thursday sennight and I’ll come your meetings!’
There was a gust of laughter all round and a few cheers. Drake now took Sam’s arm and tried to edge him away.
But in the midst of all the laughter two people were now on the edge of a deeper challenge.
‘Serious?’ said Sam.
Emma nodded. ‘Serious.’
He said: ‘The wine is speaking.’
‘I’m speaking!’ said Emma. ‘Damme.’
‘’Ere,’ said Tom Harry, coming into it. ‘What do I get if I win? Marry me, will ee?’
‘Maybe,’ said Emma. ‘Maybe not. That’s your worry.’
‘Come along, Sam,’ said Drake. ‘Come along.’
‘Special match, eh?’ shouted Tholly. ‘Winner gets me daughter!’
There was another roar of laughter.
‘How long?’ said Sam.
‘How long what?’ asked Emma.
‘How long will you attend meetings?’
‘If you win. Think you’ll win, do ee?’
‘Maybe.’
‘He ’asn’t got a smell of a hope,’ said Tom Harry. ‘I’ll break him in twain.’
‘Not if I’m stickler ye won’t,’ said Tholly. ‘If I’m stickler twill all be fair on top of the board. Fair wrastling or nothing.’
‘Three months,’ said Sam.
‘Hey, come along!’ said Emma. ‘Three months! Tis a life sentence!’
‘Not less,’ said Sam. ‘I could do no good for ee in less. Ye’d have to learn to pray.’
Emma laughed. ‘Good cripes! I reckon I bit off more’n I can chew!’
‘Chew away, maid!’ shouted someone.
‘Well,’ said Sam. ‘Twas your idea. If tis your wish now to withdraw, then I’ll withdraw too.’
‘No!’ said Emma, temper flashing. ‘Three months it be. But don’t ee forget – you’ve got to win first, mind!’
‘Hooray!’ shouted Tholly. ‘Now don’t ee go away, Sam. Don’t ee go away, Tom. We got a match but we got to get the details worked out!’
II
Fifteen rioters appeared in court at Bodmin. Five were found not guilty of t
he charges brought against them and were discharged. Ten were found guilty and sentenced, three to terms of imprisonment, four to be transported, and three to be hanged. The news startled the villages; but presently it was known that after the trial Lord de Dunstanville had had private word with the judges and they had together agreed that the execution of one only of the three might have sufficient deterrent effect, so two had had their sentences reduced to transportation – which in these days of war meant impressment in the navy.
The two reprieved were William ‘Rosie’ Sampson and William Barnes. The one left to die was John Hoskin of Camborne, nicknamed Wildcat, for ‘violently assaulting one, Samuel Phillips, miller, and for stealing goods above the value of 40s. in an outhouse belonging to a Dwelling House’. Hoskin was the elder brother of Peter Hoskin, Sam’s partner at Wheal Grace, and Sam remembered the last time he had visited the Hoskin family with messages for Peter, and John Hoskin and ‘Rosie’ Sampson had come in flushed and excited from a protest meeting. So now it had brought them to this.
That week Ross rode over to see Baron de Dunstanville. There were two or three things on his mind, and he arranged to arrive about five when he knew Basset was often in his study seeing to estate business. But today he was shown into a dining-room where dinner was not quite over, although the ladies had left. Six men were there, two strangers, two he knew slightly, and Basset himself and George Warleggan. They had all drunk well, and Ross reluctantly allowed himself to be persuaded into one of the seats vacated by the ladies and to accept a glass of brandy, and was introduced to the rest of the company. They were men from up-country, and it took a few minutes for him to realize that this was a meeting of the Members of Parliament whom Basset effectively controlled: Thomas Wallace and William Meeks, Members for Penryn, Matthew Montagu and the Hon. Robert Stewart for Tregony, and George for Truro. It fell into place when Basset told him that Pitt had dissolved Parliament and that there was to be an election in September.
George had not looked at Ross after the first cold bow, nor Ross at George, but conversation continued on a parliamentary level undeterred by Ross’s presence. It seemed that great efforts were being made to bring Pitt down, and after years in office he wanted his majority and policy confirmed by a vote of confidence from the country. Although many of the Whig nobles had repudiated Fox and supported the government – as did Basset – there was sufficient opposition and war fatigue to make Pitt’s position difficult to sustain. Indeed, there was strong feeling within the nation that the war now never could be won, what with the armed forces still on the edge of mutiny, parts of the country near starvation, the exchequer bankrupt and the whole of Europe ranged against them. To all this Pitt had answered: ‘I am not afraid for England. We shall stand till the Day of Judgement.’ But he looked a grey, tired man.
Presently Ross said: ‘What of his Bill to relieve and help the poor? How has that fared?’
Basset looked puzzled, as if for a moment he could not recall the measure, and George secretly smiled. ‘You mean . . .’
‘A fund for pensions for old people, parish loans to enable poor people to buy a cow. Schools of Industry . . .’
‘Oh . . . It is finished. It was withdrawn for amendment and is never likely to be re-introduced. It met with great opposition.’
‘From whom?’
‘Oh, most people in authority, I believe. Particularly the magistrates. It was a well-meant but ill-conceived Bill which would have ruined public morals. Mr Jeremy Bentham argued cogently against it, as did most men experienced in law.’
‘Perhaps they were not sufficiently experienced in compassion.’
Basset raised his eyebrows. ‘I do not think compassion or lack of it was the essence of the objection. But in any event the financial crisis of this year rendered it impractical. Taxes and rates are already a sufficiently alarming burden. The prime objective now is to win the war.’
Ross put his empty glass back on the littered table. ‘I should have thought that measure one of the most positive in helping to win the war – by preventing disaffection at home.’
‘We have our ways of preventing disaffection at home,’ George commented.
Shortly afterwards the dinner broke up and they walked out on the terrace. Lady Basset and whatever other ladies had been present did not reappear. Ross would have made his excuses and left if it had not been apparent that the other guests were about to do the same. George began to talk, rather expansively for him, of plays he had seen in London, of Mr Kemble and Mrs Jordan, of the private theatres of Westminster and of the amateur theatricals that took place there. It was all, Ross suspected, largely for his benefit. Then, as they were leaving, George said to him:
‘Oh, Ross, I learn that your brother-in-law is taking part in a wrestling contest with one of my gamekeepers.’
Ross’s eyes were not raised from their gaze over the greenery of the park. ‘I believe so.’
‘Incautious of him, to say the least. Tom Harry is a champion and has taken many prizes.’
‘I should have thought from his stomach he was past his best.’
‘I do not suspect your brother-in-law will find him so.’
‘It remains to be seen.’
The others looked mildly enquiring at this, so Ross explained that the local feast day was next week, and, some challenge having been issued, Sam Carne, a miner and his brother-in-law (as Mr Warleggan had pointed out), and Tom Harry, a gamekeeper, had agreed to a match, the winner to be for the best of three falls. The four other Members of Parliament, being none of them Cornish, had to have something of the method of the wrestling explained to them, and the general procedure that surrounded it. Wallace fancied he had seen something like it in London and had to be persuaded otherwise.
In the middle of this George said to Ross: ‘So you think your Methody brother-in-law has a chance of victory?’
Ross at last looked at him. ‘I hope so. It is time your gamekeeper was taught to behave.’
‘Perhaps you would like to lay some money on the contest.’
‘One which you consider so unequal?’
‘If you think different, back your opinion with a few guineas.’
The others were all listening, half amused, half serious, conscious of the bite in the conversation. De Dunstanville was taking snuff and frowning.
‘What do you suggest?’
‘A hundred?’
For a moment Ross looked over the gardens again. ‘I accept – on one condition.’
‘Ah! . . .’
That whoever loses shall pay the money to my Lord, here, to dispose of in some charitable way for the benefit of the miners.’
‘Pray let us settle on that,’ Basset said quickly, dusting his nose with his handkerchief. ‘It shall be given towards the new hospital.’ He sneezed. ‘A first contribution!’
Neither man could openly quarrel with Basset’s quick solution, so the bargain was made. General conversation went on for ten minutes or so, George and Ross exchanging no further words, and then one by one the others took their leave until only the local trio were left. Then reluctantly George asked for his horse and galloped away.
Basset watched him go and said: ‘My displeasure at your neighbourly spite has no effect in lessening it; but on this occasion it seems that I shall be the benefactor.’
‘To the satisfaction of neither party to the wager,’ Ross said.
‘Why not?’
‘George, if he won, would not want his winnings to go to any charity. I, if I won, had looked for some more direct and immediate aid for the miners than a hospital not yet built.’
Basset smiled. ‘A mercy that I out-generalled you both.’
‘I suspect that the guineas will come from me, but, who knows, the unexpected may happen.’
‘If it is to be an unequal contest it were a sharp practice on his part to force you into this wager.’
‘Happily, as you say, the miners will benefit, though at a far remove. It’s a better outcome than our labo
urs of three weeks ago.’
De Dunstanville’s lips tightened. ‘They are both aspects of the same objective. To reward and help the deserving, to curb and quell those who take the law into their own hands.’
A few rare clouds were obscuring the sun but it was still warm, and the gentle breeze wafted the scent of roses from the garden below the terrace.
‘In principle,’ Ross said, ‘I agree that that is the desirable aim. In practice – in this particular case – I wonder if any real purpose will be served by the death of one man?’
‘Hoskin? Oh, it has all been decided. As you will know, we considered the matter most carefully after the trial, and two men were reprieved. This decision was only arrived at as a result of the most careful weighing of the facts, and it was concluded that justice could be tempered with mercy and that an example need only be made of the most vicious and the most profligate of the three.’
‘Yes . . .’ said Ross. ‘Yes . . .’
Basset said: ‘It is a misfortune for the good name of British justice that the crime for which a man is actually sentenced is often only an insignificant part of his misdemeanours. Officially Hoskin goes to his death for entering a dwelling house and stealing corn to a value in excess of 40s. But in fact he has been known for years as a malcontent and has been in and out of trouble all his life. His nickname of Wildcat is not unmerited.’
‘Perhaps I should indicate my interest,’ Ross said. ‘John Hoskin has a brother Peter who works in my mine. Peter says that his brother, though a little hot-tempered and by no means of a blameless disposition, has yet never had any great malefaction in him. It may be that a brother’s estimate is not unbiased, but I think it’s often true in these cases of riot and commotion that the noisiest is not the worst. However—’ He paused as Basset seemed about to interrupt him.
‘Go on.’
‘I was about to say that I have a more selfish interest in his fate than that – namely a wish to sleep easy in my bed of nights.’
‘How does it affect you?’
‘It happened that I was in charge of the constables who went to the Hoskin cottage.’
Lady de Dunstanville came out on the terrace, but her husband waved her away.