University of Virginia Library


185

Heaving Day.

She was a splendid animal—
I seem to see her now,
At work beside the broad canal
Upon the coalpit brow.
A dozen wenches stout as she
Wrought with her at the wains,
And thrust and tipp'd them gallantly
Between the bearing chains;
But as they work'd or as they sang,
Or as they went and came,
She was the leader of the gang;
And Alice was her name.
Black Alice: such a name was due
To her above the rest;
For she of all that collier crew
Was blackest, and was best.
She up or down the lofty shoot
Could climb and swing and swarm,
With coolest head and firmest foot,
And strongest, steadiest arm;

186

She foremost, from the great pit-cage
Would hurry with her load,
And drive it swiftest o'er the stage
And down the iron road,
And check it with well-planted heels
Or e'er it reach'd the goal;
And lift and poise the hinder wheels
To ease the flying coal.
Then, as it thunders down below,
Such clouds of coal-dust rise,
That Alice on her airy brow,
Is hidden from our eyes,
Until, erect amid that storm,
She comes again to view
With all her features and her form
Changed to a darker hue;
And thus, with every journey made
Toward the kecking-place,
Another crust of coal is laid
Upon her fair young face.
She cares not; wherefore should she care?
This is her daily task,
And well she knows that she is fair
Beneath her ugly mask;

187

Well knows she, that when work is done
And Sunday comes again,
She shall enjoy, and not alone,
Her evening in the lane.
Meanwhile, this also she enjoys—
Her rude laborious life:
The smoke, the tumult, and the noise,
The busy bustling strife,
Are welcome to her stout young heart
And to her vigorous frame,
Intent to act her chosen part
And justify her fame.
For she is famous at the brow;
Beneath the Gaffer's eye
She and her mates are working now
Alert and lustily;
But “Alice is the finest lass,”
Says he, “among 'em all:
Look ye, how well she earns her brass,
How strong she is and tall!
“She does a man's full work,” he says,
“And does it easy, too;
And helps us in a many ways
As no one else can do.

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“Alice!” he shouted from the bank;
And the much-favour'd maid
Forsook her barrow and her plank
And instantly obey'd.
Catlike, she clamber'd up the stie
With eager feet and hands,
And stood before us silently,
Awaiting our commands.
“Now then,” the grave old Gaffer said,
“If you're a father, sir,
This here is summat like a maid—
And you can look at her!”
I did; adown her sooty face
I saw the black sweat roll;
But saw too in her eyes, the grace
Of woman's candid soul:
And, since she had that best of charms,
I could not choose but bless
Her sooty face, her rugged arms,
Her coarse but seemly dress.
Why not? all these became her well
And if they show'd her rude
In life and work, they did not tell
Against her womanhood;

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That was still safe within her breast;
And he who sought it there
Might find it in as pure a nest
As Una's, and as fair.
I knew this—not by her alone,
But by an hundred more
Such wenches, whom myself had known
At other pits, of yore;
Rough creatures to the carnal eye,
But womanly within;
Kept by their healthful drudgery
From foolishness and sin.
Therefore, for all her manlike frame
And boorish dialect,
I hail'd this Alice by her name
With honour and respect.
I ask'd her of her work, her wage;
How far she had to come
O' mornings; of her health, her age,
Her kindred, and her home.
And she with rough but modest cheer
Did quietly reply,
As one who had no need to fear
A stranger's scrutiny.

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She lives with mother, on the Green—
A good three miles away;
And she, a maiden of eighteen,
Earns eighteenpence a day.
“Tha rawse ma yance,” she sadly said,
“But niver stoock tiv it;
T' men was that faan te poonch mah yed
An' git ma sack'd frae t' pit.
“Tha couldna' beer a wench lahk me
Te be as good as them;
Tha'd like te tonn ma oot, d'ye see,
An' leeave ma oot, te clem.
“Aye, bud tha wawn't! Ah sticks te t' caage,
An' throotches theer wi' t' men;
An' if tha've bested me i' waage,
Tha shanna sack ma, then!
“Wat for should Ah be reckon'd nowt
For been a woman, sir?
If Ah can fraame an' deah lahk owt
Te be a laabourer,
“Why, that's eneeaf; Ah knaws mah traade
As reet as ony one;
Ah's joost as good wi' pick an' spaade,
Or better, till a mon;

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“An' as for likin', bless your sawl!
Ah doos, a varry deal:
Ah've allas ed te deah wi' cawl,
An' likes it rare an' weel.
“Aye—mony a tahm, across yon moor
Ah've coom'd knee-deep i' snaw,
Link'd wi' me feyther, friv oor door,—
An' yit Ah tells ye saw!
“For why, Ah's used tiv it, Ah is,
An Ah can deah wi' cowd:
Ah've niver doon nowt else bud this,
Sin Ah wer ight year owd.
“Bud, Gaffer,” said the menseful maid,—
And something like a smile
Across her swarthy features play'd,
And lit them up the while
Like lightning o'er a thundercloud,
“Gaffer,” she said, “Ah laa
Yon gentleman was niver towd
'At this was Heavin' Daa.
“Aye, us mun heave him yit, for loock—
Me and them t'oother gells!
An' if wa leeak all ower moock,
An' canna cleean wersels,

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“Why, he'll excuse it for a bit!
We're roogh uns, sir, it's trew,
We're nobbut wenches off o' t' pit,
Bud wat, we're jannock too.
“Coom doon te t' bonk, sir, if ye please—
The'r waatin' of ye theer;
Coom doon, an' sot yersel at ease
'I Becky Preece's cheer;
“An' us 'ull heave ye oop aloft,
Nicely, will me an' her;
An' let ye doon again as soft—
As soft as iver, sir!”
The Gaffer smiled, but did not speak:
Though he was master there,
He knew authority is weak
In presence of the fair;
He knew she need not ask his leave:
For at this Easter tide
It is the damsels' part to heave,
Nor may they be denied.
Why, he himself must e'en be hove,
And pay his footing down:
Strong Alice, like the Bird of Jove,
Will claim him for her own,

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Will come and clip him from behind,
And hold him fast indeed,
And lift and poise him to her mind—
The helpless Ganymede!
I too might thus have been upborne
For Alice with her hands of horn
Was quite as strong as I;
But no—stern etiquette forbade:
A stranger of degree
May never by a single maid
Be held in jeopardy.
Therefore in Becky's chair I sat;
And, of the girls around,
On this side one, and one on that,
Did lift it from the ground.
'Twas Becky heaved me on the left,
And Alice on the right;
Between their mighty arms and deft
I rose to shoulder height;
And sat there, throned above the throng
Of shouting womanhood:
Twelve stalwart maidens, bold and strong,
And all of English blood;

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Twelve faces, black, but young and fair,
And full of girlish glee;
Showing their white teeth to the air,
And gazing up at me.
And I gazed earnestly on them:
Were it not well, my dear,
That these should stitch and darn and hem,
Instead of working here?
Ah, how robust they are, how rude,
These maidens of the mine!
Their hands and arms, alas, are nude,
And most unfeminine!
Yes, truly, when compared with yours:
But, come another day
And see them in their spare half-hours
Between the work and play;
See them, all seated in a row
Outside the cabin door;
Watch how they knit, and how they sew—
And you will doubt no more.
All in a moment, thoughts like these
Went lightly through my brain,
Till those strong bearers at their ease
Did let me down again,

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And set my chair upon the ground,
And gave me kisses three:
For each, by solemn duty bound,
Owed her black lips to me.
Those black lips had a coaly taste—
Like honey from yon hill
Where pit flowers bloom amid the waste;
And yet 'tis honey still.
And these were kisses: not so sweet
As yours, dear Isabelle,
Yet such wherewith a maid may greet
The man who loves her well.
To me, they were but offer'd thus
In hope of some reward,
Some coin, some grateful obolus,
Some token of regard,
Which I might willingly bestow,
At such a time as this,
On these poor wenches of the brow,
Who can but heave—and kiss!
I did bestow it; loud and clear
Those girlish voices sound,
While Becky brings the can of beer
And gravely hands it round;

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And Alice, with her best respects,
Drinks first, and drinks to me;
And not a maiden there, neglects
That formal courtesy;
And all the swart and stalwart band
Close round me quietly,
And each extends her horny hand
And smiles, and says good-bye;
While Alice, ever fond and fain,
Is loath to go away,
Till I have sworn to come again
Another Heaving Day.