or, An Adventure In Yorkshire,
or, An Account Of Events Bearing Upon The Originality And Efficacy of Harden’s Repeating Loom
I awoke as usual in the Reed-bed, with Starlings all about me. In the Sky a great wreckage of Clouds. I called to the Starlings by name – I could not tell one from the other, but then neither does a Starling know this name from that name, so all Fools together we were, and I called them, ho Crompton, ho Arkwright, ho Cartwright, ho Kay, ho Horrocks, ho Hargreaves, ho Grimshaw, for I had named the Starlings after my Enemies, and as each day I ran out of Enemies before I ran out of Starlings, it seemed salutary, in the sense of Beneficial, to be reminded each Day that I had not so many Enemies as there were Starlings in the Reed-bed.
The Reader might care to reflect on whether he might profit likewise, by naming (let us say) the Daisies of a Meadow after his Cares, or the Rooks in a Rookery after his Debts. Let him go with Caution, though, lest he find himself with more Cares than Daisies, or more Debts than Rooks, and then God help him.
I had taken to the Reedbed some Months previously. I was a poor, harried Soul, my Inventions impounded, my House seized for Arrears, and Bailiffs close upon my tail. A sorry Happenstance for a Man who might have known Fame, had he not been Thwarted by fickle Capital, Eclipsed by Inventors richer in Rapacity than Invention, and ringed about by False Men. And the Worst of the False Men a Woman, at that.
This Day, though, I was resolved to begin my Pursuit of Redress, which was in turn to begin with my Pursuit of the Woman. I had at last learned, from the Coachman who had driven her away in the Night, a Direction and a Distance – ‘She had desired to be left at the Roadside, sir,’ he had told me (so as to better elude Justice, I supposed). That was All I had, but it was not Nothing. I expressed a long Urination into the Reeds and commenced my Chase.
She was a small Thing, who was wont to put me in Mind of a a Wren, if my Reader knows that small Songbird, or I might better say that small Tyrant, for the Wren is a despotical Species, though dainty in her Appearance, and just so was she. But I had not thought her False or Unfair – only Fierce – until like a very Barabbas she took from me the Fruit of my nine Years’ Labour, viz, the Repeating Loom, which Men of Industry Far and Wide might have known as John Harden’s Repeating Loom, were ours a just and kind World.
Might I, the reader no doubt asks, elaborate on the Ingenuity and momentous Originality of the Repeating Loom? And indeed I Might, except that I have been Robbed once and would not be again, for I have not even the feeble Protection of Patent, that too being Denied me by Fools and Pettifoggers and certain abstrute Matters of Law – so the Reader will have to take my Word, as a Man of Science and Progress.
As I walked uphill from the Trough of the Reedbed, having left the Starlings in my Wake, I thought at First that I might give my Enemies’ names to my Footsteps, for I knew I had many more Steps ahead than Enemies behind, but this Strategem was soon Overtaken by a curious Phenomenon, viz, that with each successive Step through the broken Grass and Mud, it became harder to summon the Name of an Enemy, and impossible, soon enough, to summon any other Name than hers. Anne, Anne, Anne, my Footsteps said. Anne, Anne, Anne, all across the lonely Hill-side, beneath a barren Sky, tending South.
I did not keep careful Count of Weeks as I travelled, for what were Weeks to me, but I took Note of each Village and Town, each Foundry, Factory and Mill, and at each Place I enquired after the Woman, Anne. She had it seemed drawn no little Attention in her Travels, which naturally occasioned me no Surprize, as she had at one Time drawn my own Attention, and that too in no little Degree, tho I should say that there was not between us a tender Sentiment – no, there was Nothing in her that was tender, or anyway not Much, and rather there was between us what there is within a Reciprocating Mechanism: a matter of Counterweight, and Complementarity.
At other Times I might say we were not a Mechanism but were more akin to a Flint and a Steel. What Sparks we gave off! – but no, nothing tender, very Little that was soft.
I also took note as I travelled of the various Observations offered as to her Character, for example that she was as clever a little Baggage as a Fellow ever saw, for example that those blue Eyes of hers could melt good Glass, for example that there was a Lass whose Voice could spoil a Harvest (I thought this Ill-spirited), for example that the clatter of her Clogs across the mill Floor recalled the sound of the Prussian Artillery at Leuthen, for example that she was almost a great Beauty until she turned her Eyes upon you, and so on.
Often of course I was asked why I was seeking this Woman, was she a runaway Wife, or a runaway Servant, and I would lie that she was One or the Other, but of course Neither was true, and my object was only Redress.
For Lodging and Nourishment I worked, offering here a Repair, there an Improvement, in another place an Efficiency, an Idea, or only a pair of hard Hands, a cranking Elbow, a strong Leg. One Fellow said to me, at Kilnhurst perhaps, or was it Misterton, or in the Mill at Todwick, That Woman of yourn, he said, by God she could work, and I said ay, she is a Worker, and Moreover a great cause of Work in others, and he did not catch my Meaning, but I had been put powerfully in Mind of our Time together, no not indeed as Man and Wife and still less as Master and Servant but as something Other – something closer yet to the Sublime.
Each of us stoked a Furnace in the Other.
She would say to me: I will have Time for Fine Words, John, when the Roving runs true on yon Water-frame, but as I see it does not, though I’d swear on your Life that I told you to set the Roving true, I shall have to set it Myself, and you and your Fine Words can go Whistle.
She would say: If you were as Canny in bargaining for Flax, Sir, as you fancy you are Witty in your Talk, we should be Captains of Industry by Now, and yet here we are paying Ninepence a Pound for Flax, and I have an Ear-ache.
She would say: Do not, I beg you, bring me Love, Mr Harden. Bring me Steam-power.
At an Inn one day beside the Stainforth and Keadby Canalworks, I drank Heavy Beer with an Engineer, with Whom I found myself falling into Confidence, and to Whom I told the Truth of the Matter, that Anne was not a Wife or Servant but rather, and in more Senses than One, a Partner – until, I said, gulping down the sweet Beer, she proved False, and Fled with my Life’s Work.
The mechanical Principles you had discovered?, pressed the Engineer, to which I replied that my Invention, like much great Art, was founded on elementary Principles – the great Originality, I said, was in their Application.
Your Calculations, then, he said, and I replied Nay, nay, Anne was always the quicker in Arithmetic and the like, though as Children we both learnt our Numbers at the Feet of the same lame Mill-girl – the Calculations were hers, if Anyone’s.
The Engineer, with a Smile of a type I have heard called Sardonic, then asked me how I came by my Moment of Genius, by what Means I devized or constructed my Magnum Opus, viz. Harden’s Repeating Loom, and here I sprang to my Answer, for I had been carrying the Memory close by me for many a Mile, and eagerly I said, well, Sir, you see, Anne and I – that is, me and the Woman – Anne said to me, you see –
And at this the Engineer interrupted with a great Roar of Laughter, and beat the Table with a Fist, and cried Damn, Mr Harden, sir, the Thing was the Woman’s, from First to Last, sir, and you are a Fellow who Farts in a Storm and says, See, Gentlemen, what a Blow I have made!
I determined that the Engineer could not handle his Beer and was Drunk, and so I left the Inn.
Not very long after that I came to another Town, no more nor less Dirty than Another, no more nor less Noisy, no Greater nor Smaller, no Richer nor Poorer, just a Town, and there I made my usual Enquiries, after the Woman, the small, busy Woman, the spindle-sharp Woman who might have passed this Way, the Woman with the Eyes of Cornflower, the Cunning Hands, the Mind as bright and blazing as the Morning Star – and after a While I was told, Ay, she was here, but now she is Gone, and I sighed, for I had long grown weary of this Answer, and I said, Gone, gone whither?, and they said, Gone, sir, to the Hereafter, Gone to her Reward.
I was conducted to a small Churchyard. I was told she had taken Fever, consequent to her Labour, and I said she was always a great one for Labour, and they said, nay, Sir, ‘tis no Time for Jokes, and I said I made no Joke, but then saw their Meaning.
And is it, is the Child, hereabouts too, hereabouts buried too, I asked them.
And they said oh no Sir, he is with Mrs Garbutts, and I said What, Who, Who is Garbutts, and they said she was Nursing the Poor Boy, for he had been thrown upon the Mercy of the Parish. I asked was he Christened and they said he was and I asked with what Name, and they told me his Mother had named him John Harden, after his Father. And at this they Eyed me with Suspicion and Surmise, and asked, if they might make so Bold, what my name was.
She must have been some Months along when she left, by my Reckoning (which I own is not always Precise). I might ask where she was going to but I think in fact she was not going To anywhere. She was only going From.
I suppose she feared that I would force Marriage upon her. Aside from the Fact that I would have sooner tried to force Breeches and a Waistcoat upon an enraged Bull, I never would have, no, if she did not want it. Just the same I would never Cage a Bird (though I recall I did, once, as a Boy, cage a Bird, it was a Starling, and it came to Grief).
Good Mrs Garbutts brought to me the Boy and with him a great Torrent of Instruction concerning Milk, and Swaddling, and I barely know What else – I think I am a clever Man, but in this Matter I have Much to learn, and besides, I found that I could not give the good Garbutts the proper Attention, for I was lost, like a foundering Swimmer, in my Boy’s blue Eyes.
I have known for a great Span of Time that we did not need to be Wed to make Something together, Anne and I.
I am holding him now in the Crook of my Elbow. He is a Marvellous and most Improbable little Device.
Richard Smyth 