With Marlborough to Malplaquet | Page 6

that of soldiering, and about the most empty-stomached.
Don't talk of such a thing, my good lad."
In vain George entered into a defence of the military profession,
referring to the many great soldiers with whom his school readings in
the histories of Greece and Rome and England had made him more or
less acquainted. Fairburn was not to be charmed, and with a deep sigh
the boy gave up the contest. He was still more upset when his father
proceeded to tell him that he would not return to St. Peter's, but would
remain at home to assist in the business till a place could be secured for
him in some great London house.
It was not a task he cared about; anybody could have done it, he
thought, as he entered the weights on little tickets. But George had a
large fund of common sense and a deep respect for his father. He did
not grumble or sulk, but resolved that as he had to do the work he
would do it thoroughly.
Half an hour later he started and flushed to see Mr. Blackett and
Matthew, both well mounted, and followed by a groom in livery, come
riding by. He trusted they would not notice him at his dusty and
disagreeable task. Alas! the field path they were pursuing led close past
the spot, and George observed the look of surprise on their faces when
they saw him. The father gave no sign of recognition; Matthew looked
uncomfortable and nodded in a shamefaced kind of way. George
flushed, and for a moment felt a bitter anger surge within him; then he
called himself a dolt for caring a straw what they thought of him. It was
a little hard, however, to think that Matthew Blackett would be going

back to his beloved school and studies, while he, also a Peterite, was
engaged in such a humdrum task as weighing coal at the pit mouth.
His father's energy at this time was prodigious. Fairburn was afoot
early and late. In spite of the cold and stormy weather of winter he
made two or three trips to London in his collier brig, always to report
on his return a notable addition to his trade. Once, too, on his
homeward voyage, he had had himself put ashore a little north of Spurn,
and had trudged the five and twenty miles to Hull, the rising port on the
east coast. Then, after appointing an agent and starting what seemed
likely to grow into a big business, he had tramped the hundred and
twenty miles or more that separated him from Newcastle and his home,
cutting a quaint figure on the road, with his old-fashioned hat and cloak,
and his much-twisted and knotty oak stick. The result of all this energy
was that when he was in a joking mood he would say, "We shall have
to see about buying another pit, mother--Blackett's, perhaps, as I hear
they have little going on there at present."
And indeed the Blackett colliery did at that time seem to be under a
cloud. Trade fell off, and almost every week hands were discharged.
Fairburn was secretly a little afraid of mischief from these out-of-works,
especially when he himself was absent from home.
Towards the end of February England was startled by the news that
King William had been thrown from his favourite steed Sorrel, at
Hampton Court, and was lying in a precarious state, his collar-bone
broken. A week or two later came the tidings of William's death, and of
the proclamation of the Princess Anne as Queen.
The news had an extraordinary effect on Mr. Blackett. Ordering his
coach, he drove in haste to his colliery, hoisted a big flag there,
proclaimed a holiday on full pay, and sent for a copious supply of ale.
His son Matthew, who had not gone back to school at York, amused
himself and the men by firing unnumbered salvoes from a couple of
small cannon he possessed.
"Now that Billy the Dutchman is out of the way," Squire Blackett cried
exultingly, "Whiggery will soon be dead, and England will be ruled by

its rightful sovereign, who will be assisted by lords and gentlemen of
sound policy."
A huge banner was hoisted, and the Squire and his son headed a
procession to the neighbouring villages. The jubilant colliery owner
and his merry men took care to pass the Fairburn pit, with frantic
cheerings and hallooings.
"What does it all mean?" George, who was in charge in the absence of
his father, inquired of the old overlooker of the colliery.
"It means beer, George," the ancient replied, "beer and froth, and
nothing else."
"Nothing else! I hope that is a true word, Saunders, that's all. I mislike
the looks of some