Download the full version of the textbook now at textbookfull.

com

The 100x Leader A How To Guide for Building

Leaders Worth Following Jeremie Kubicek

https://textbookfull.com/product/the-100x-leader-
a-how-to-guide-for-building-leaders-worth-
following-jeremie-kubicek/

Explore and download more textbook at https://textbookfull.com

 Recommended digital products (PDF, EPUB, MOBI) that
you can download immediately if you are interested.

Becoming a global chief security executive officer a how

to guide for next generation security leaders 1st Edition
Cloutier
https://textbookfull.com/product/becoming-a-global-chief-security-
executive-officer-a-how-to-guide-for-next-generation-security-
leaders-1st-edition-cloutier/
textbookfull.com

How To Make It in the New Music Business Practical Tips on

Building a Loyal Following and Making a Living as a
Musician Ari Herstand
https://textbookfull.com/product/how-to-make-it-in-the-new-music-
business-practical-tips-on-building-a-loyal-following-and-making-a-
living-as-a-musician-ari-herstand/
textbookfull.com

Leading Beyond the Ego: How to Become a Transpersonal

Leader John Knights

https://textbookfull.com/product/leading-beyond-the-ego-how-to-become-
a-transpersonal-leader-john-knights/

textbookfull.com

The Intentional Brain Motion Emotion and the Development

of Modern Neuropsychiatry Michael R. Trimble

https://textbookfull.com/product/the-intentional-brain-motion-emotion-
and-the-development-of-modern-neuropsychiatry-michael-r-trimble/

textbookfull.com
Georgia the Carolinas 2nd Edition Lonely Planet

https://textbookfull.com/product/georgia-the-carolinas-2nd-edition-
lonely-planet/

textbookfull.com

Breast Surgery Juarez M. Avelar

https://textbookfull.com/product/breast-surgery-juarez-m-avelar/

textbookfull.com

Detecting Trust and Deception in Group Interaction V. S.

Subrahmanian (Editor)

https://textbookfull.com/product/detecting-trust-and-deception-in-
group-interaction-v-s-subrahmanian-editor/

textbookfull.com

Basic Notes in Psychopharmacology Fourth Edition Levi

https://textbookfull.com/product/basic-notes-in-psychopharmacology-
fourth-edition-levi/

textbookfull.com

Nanotechnology and Scientific Communication Ways of

Talking about Emerging Technologies and Their Impact on
Society 2004 2008 1st Edition Deborah R. Bassett (Auth.)
https://textbookfull.com/product/nanotechnology-and-scientific-
communication-ways-of-talking-about-emerging-technologies-and-their-
impact-on-society-2004-2008-1st-edition-deborah-r-bassett-auth/
textbookfull.com
Big Data and Cloud Computing for Development Lessons from
Key Industries and Economies in the Global South 1st
Edition Nir Kshetri
https://textbookfull.com/product/big-data-and-cloud-computing-for-
development-lessons-from-key-industries-and-economies-in-the-global-
south-1st-edition-nir-kshetri/
textbookfull.com
 100X
THE
LEADER
HOW TO BECOME SOMEONE
WORTH FOLLOWING

JEREMIE KUBICEK &

STEVE COCKR AM
The100X
Leader
 100X
The
Leader
HOW TO BECOME SOMEONE
WORTH FOLLOWING

Jeremie Kubicek &

Steve Cockram
Cover image: Henry Be on Unsplash

Cover design: Wiley

Copyright © 2019 by Pub House, LLC. All rights reserved.

Published by John Wiley & Sons, Inc., Hoboken, New Jersey.

Published simultaneously in Canada.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form
or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, except as
permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 United States Copyright Act, without either the
prior written permission of the Publisher, or authorization through payment of the appropriate
per-copy fee to the Copyright Clearance Center, Inc., 222 Rosewood Drive, Danvers, MA 01923,
(978) 750-8400, fax (978) 646-8600, or on the Web at www.copyright.com. Requests to the
Publisher for permission should be addressed to the Permissions Department, John Wiley & Sons,
Inc., 111 River Street, Hoboken, NJ 07030, (201) 748-6011, fax (201) 748-6008, or online at http://
www.wiley.com/go/permissions.

Limit of Liability/Disclaimer of Warranty:While the publisher and author have used their best efforts
in preparing this book, they make no representations or warranties with respect to the accuracy
or completeness of the contents of this book and specifically disclaim any implied warranties of
merchantability or fitness for a particular purpose. No warranty may be created or extended by
sales representatives or written sales materials. The advice and strategies contained herein may not
be suitable for your situation.You should consult with a professional where appropriate. Neither the
publisher nor author shall be liable for any loss of profit or any other commercial damages, including
but not limited to special, incidental, consequential, or other damages.

For general information on our other products and services or for technical support, please
contact our Customer Care Department within the United States at (800) 762-2974, outside the
United States at (317) 572-3993 or fax (317) 572-4002.

Wiley publishes in a variety of print and electronic formats and by print-on-demand. Some
material included with standard print versions of this book may not be included in e-books or in
print-on-demand. If this book refers to media such as a CD or DVD that is not included in the
version you purchased, you may download this material at http://booksupport.wiley.com. For
more information about Wiley products, visit www.wiley.com.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data:

Names: Kubicek, Jeremie, author. | Cockram, Steve, author.

Title: The 100X leader : how to become someone worth following / Jeremie
Kubicek, Steve Cockram.
Description: Hoboken, New Jersey : John Wiley & Sons, Inc., [2019] | Includes
index. |
Identifiers: LCCN 2018043695 (print) | LCCN 2018045132 (ebook) | ISBN
9781119519478 (Adobe PDF) | ISBN 9781119519454 (ePub) | ISBN 9781119519447
(hardcover)
Subjects: LCSH: Leadership.
Classification: LCC HD57.7 (ebook) | LCC HD57.7 .K81545 2019 (print) | DDC
658.4/092–dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018043695

Printed in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
I want to dedicate this work to my dad, Mike Kubicek,
who has constantly fought for my highest possible good.
You are my hero and a leader worth following!
—Jeremie

For Helen, Izzy, Megan, and Charlotte—thank you

for sharing this incredible adventure with me,
with all my love.
—Steve
 Contents

Introductionix

Section I  Developing You

Chapter 1 Choosing to Climb03

Chapter 2 The Making of a Sherpa 19

Chapter 3 Your Ultimate Test 35

Chapter 4 Know Yourself to Lead Yourself 57

Chapter 5 Five Circles of Influence 71

Section II  Getting Others to a Higher Level

Chapter 6 The Higher Levels 95

Chapter 7 Developing Others and Managing

Expectations113

Chapter 8 Becoming a Multiplication Master 135

vii
viii Contents

Section III  Creating 100X Cultures

Chapter 9 Creating the Atmosphere for Growth 155

Chapter 10 Someone Worth Following 175

Chapter 11 The Sherpa Challenge 191

Our Gift to You 205

Acknowledgments207

About the Authors 211

About GiANT Worldwide 213

Speaking Inquiries for Jeremie Kubicek and Steve Cockram 215

Index217
Visit https://textbookfull.com
now to explore a rich
collection of eBooks, textbook
and enjoy exciting offers!
 Introduction

There is a people group on this planet known for their super-

human abilities. They can climb at levels unimaginable, while
carrying gear and supplies that would make the normal person
wince. They are known as the Sherpa, and they are a perfect
metaphor to describe a type of superhuman leader that exists
on this planet as well.
You may know the Sherpa for their expertise on Mount
Everest and throughout the Himalaya mountains. Even more
than their physical DNA, the Sherpa tend to have a belief system
that is different than the extreme climbers who pay thousands
to climb a mountain, seeking mostly the thrill of personal
achievement. In contrast, the Sherpa climb out of respect for
the mountain and for the chance to take care of their families.
Two types of people climb the mountain for different
reasons: one to check off an accomplishment, the other to
help people fulfill their dreams.Throughout this book, we use
the metaphor of a Sherpa because we feel they are the best
example of what it means to truly lead people, modeling per-
fectly the ability to calibrate support and challenge. We will
explain what we mean by a “100X leader” in depth and give
you many practical tools and examples as we challenge you

ix
x Introduction

to live and lead at your full potential. Our ultimate goal is to

help you become a person who people want to follow, not one
people have to follow. There is a big difference.

“Have to” versus “Want to”

Have you ever worked for someone simply because you needed
a job or a paycheck? This was a leader that you reluctantly
worked for out of duty or necessity, but one you wouldn’t
necessarily have chosen to work for otherwise.
Mentally, “want to” versus “have to” is a very different
thing. When we want to work for someone, life is much
brighter. When we work for someone worth following, we
have a spring in our step, we want to work hard. But, when
we are forced to work for a weak leader, even things we like
to do become tedious.
In this book we will help you evaluate how others see your
leadership and your life, and we will equip you with proven
practical tools so that you can become someone people will
choose to follow.

We Need Better Leaders

The twenty-first century is a steep mountain climb for today’s

leaders; the landscape is treacherous and constantly shifting as
the complexities of work, culture, and life are changing rap-
idly in the digital age. It’s unrecognizable from 30 years ago!
In essence, the terrain has changed drastically, and people are
either adapting or not.
Because of these changes we have come to believe that
the world doesn’t need more leaders—it needs more of the
 Introduction xi

right kind of leaders, especially amid the chaos that is constant

within global affairs. We need more leaders who people want
to believe in, not leaders who people are forced to follow.
The changes in geopolitical realities, global leadership, and
technological advancements have also caused a complete shift
in the way adults learn. People have changed the way they read
and view information and even the way they read books. Social
media affects news feeds and attitudes, not to mention the end-
less options of entertainment. The proliferation of information
has forced different behaviors as people try to filter what they
want to take in and how much content to digest, whether it’s
audio, visual, or text. This dramatic shift in how we learn affects
people’s abilities to become healthy and to train others effectively.
No one has climbed this mountain before. Having worked
with leaders around the globe, we know the challenges of
today’s landscape.The realities that leaders are asked to address
require a new technique since the old maps are invalid. Since
2013 we have been working to create new maps for twenty-
first-century leaders—a people system that actually scales and
multiplies healthy leaders. And it has been working, which
is why we have built this field guide for transformation and
multiplication for you to use.

Transformation and Multiplication Methodology

This book is written for every person who leads others in

many different circles of influence—from the CEO to the
director to the front-line manager to the parent at home
with kids or to the leader inside a community. Our goal is to
establish a new standard of leadership, one that is centered on
humility, self-awareness, and excellence but also accepts the
challenge to multiply other leaders with the same DNA.
xii Introduction

You will quickly understand our philosophy and our goal

to help you become as healthy a leader as possible and learn
how to multiply your skills to others. Ultimately, we will take
the greatest delight when your spouse, kids, teammates or
employees notice a tangible difference in you and comment
on it. Such stories of transformational change are our true
metric of success.
We believe you cannot remove leadership from real life.
You might only be leading one person—yourself—and even
then, you can learn to lead more effectively. Even if you simply
grow personally to a higher level of self-awareness and begin
to liberate yourself, then this book is worth it.We believe pas-
sionately in applied leadership learning—we don’t just want
you to know more about leadership, we want you to become
a leader who others are proud to follow.
Here is how one leader described the book while reading
an early version:

This book puts it all together. It helps me on my own view

of myself, affects my role in my family and gives me real tools
to help me with my people. You guys put the words to my
thoughts and gave me something that I can use as a field
guide. I honestly think I will be able to keep this book open
on my desk to help me with my real life at work and at home.
—Brandon Hutchins, CEO, Gaskins Surveying &
Engineering, Marietta, Georgia

Where the Change Starts

But we believe that you must first change yourself before you
can attempt to change others. This is the secret of the Sherpa,
or 100X leader. As we help you change your view of the
 Introduction xiii

future, your priorities and your goals, this will create the pos-
sibility for a ripple effect that will change your families, teams,
organizations, and communities.
We need leaders who lead for the benefit of others, not
just for themselves.
To be a 100X leader you must be honest and challenge
your core motivation:

■■ What do you really want?

■■ What do you desire to achieve by the time you are 40, 50,
or 65-plus years of age?
■■ How are you planning to actually get there?
■■ What are you afraid of losing?
■■ Looking at your past leadership, what would others con-
clude was your motivation? Is it accurate? And, do you
want to change that perception?

Change starts when a person “looks in a mirror” and first

becomes aware that there is some blemish or tendency that
needs to be addressed.
We can’t change you. We can only hold up a mirror to
challenge and encourage you to start the process of becoming
a leader worth following.
When you finish this book, hopefully you will have
accomplished two things:

1. You will have experienced a profound personal

insight, a pathway, and a vision of a better way to live
and lead.
2. You will start to become adept at intentionally transfer-
ring what you have learned to help others.
xiv Introduction

The 100X process is a journey. We hope this field guide

will give you a new language of leadership, and that you will
let us be your Sherpas to help you lead at higher levels and
then have the joy of helping others climb.
Welcome to base camp. Let’s get ready to become someone
worth following.
Section

1 Developing
You
 1
Choosing to
Climb

On May 20, 2013 at approximately 3:30 a.m., John Beede was

rudely awakened by his alarm. He had been dreaming about
enjoying the most amazing cup of hot tea he had ever had,
while eating some delicious warm pastries in a local cafe.
As he began to awake from his slumber he realized the
awful reality that it was just a dream—a cruel dream. There
was neither tea nor any scrumptious pastry, but instead he
could hear the strong arctic wind that sounded like a freight
train and reminded him where he was. It was the type of wind
that threatens climbers not to go any further. As he began to
stir, the extreme cold seeped into his sleeping bag and snapped
him to reality.This was the day—the day he would remember
for the rest of his life. If he made it back to tell about it.

3
4 Developing You

Nestled at 23,500 feet at Camp 3 on Mount Everest, after 45

days on the mountain, nine months of training and 17 years of
dreaming it was time for John to start the final leg of his journey.
John is an expert climber and one of the few who have
climbed the seven summits—the highest single mountain on
each of the seven continents. In his life he has climbed over
100 mountains, but only one remained—the most magnifi-
cent mountain on earth, Mount Everest. And the mountain
held all his respect.
Just like the morning rituals of the Sherpa, John pre-
pared his mind in the few minutes he had before dressing and
leaving for this important feat. This morning, like every other
morning, he listened to a talk about mind over matter from a
motivational speaker and then read a few messages from
family to inspire him for what he was about to do.
John had prepared physically and he was in the best shape
of his life, though the time on Everest was beginning to
take its toll. He was ready for summit day. He had perfected
the technical aspects of climbing and could manage ropes
and his climbing tools with the best of them. His focus was
on his emotional and mental endurance. He would have to
handle the negative voices in his head and the ramifications of
other people cracking under the sheer emotional, mental, and
physical stress of climbing in the death zone.
Oh yeah, the death zone. That is the roughly 3,000 feet of
mountain from Camp 4 to the summit that is the most treacherous
terrain on the planet.This is the altitude where airplanes fly and
where the oxygen needed for life just doesn’t exist. Each climber
has less than 48 hours to climb from Camp 4 to the summit and
back down to Camp 3 (see Figure 1.1). In fact, the year of John’s
climb, nine people died in Everest’s death zone. Through his
binoculars, John watched one climber perish attempting a
climb. He would see six other dead bodies in all as he climbed, a
devastating blow to the psyche of even a world-class climber.
Visit https://textbookfull.com
now to explore a rich
collection of eBooks, textbook
and enjoy exciting offers!
 Choosing to Climb 5

Figure 1.1 John Beede’s ascent to the summit of

Mount Everest.
Source: Courtesy of www.alanarnette.com© reproduction
prohibited without authorization.

They reached Camp 4 at 26,300 feet by 11 a.m. for a rest.

Can you imagine resting in the death zone? Though the rest
helped, every climber was focused on the final push to the
summit that started at 7 p.m.
The first steps out of Camp 4 committed John into the
blackness of the frozen Himalayan night sky. The next 30 hours
would mark the culminating moments of a 17-year mountain-
eering and climbing career.This was his final “testing ground” of
self-discovery and personal growth. Since the mountain wasn’t
about to lower itself to his level, it was his opportunity to rise up
to the demands presented by the climb.
John pondered to himself, “Do I have what it
takes? Could I perform at my best in the most extreme
6 Developing You

environment on earth? Can I balance my skills, physical strength,

emotional endurance, teamwork, and safety judgments?” Step
after grueling step, the truth sunk in to him. John thought,“every
person needs his or her own personal proving place; this is mine.”
That night would be one of the most intense of John’s life.
The only comfort was that he was not alone. Nuru, one of the
most coveted Sherpa guides, had climbed right beside him
since base camp, and together they reevaluated the weather for
the right window to summit.
Each climber was given two canisters of oxygen along
the way, one in the beginning and one stored higher, both
supposed to last 10 hours each—enough to take them from
Camp 3 to the summit and back down safely to Camp 2.
John, however, had an issue with his oxygen. His first canister
only lasted 3 hours, not 10. An oxygen canister is threaded
like the cap of a screw top bottle, and the rubber threads on
John’s tank began to warp from the extreme cold, failing to
seal properly, causing the oxygen to leak.
Nuru, his Sherpa, did what he was trained to do—he
climbed higher to get the other fresh tank that was stored
for the upper levels so that they could continue the climb.
As John waited, the colors around him began to fade. His red
coat became gray as his eyes began to shut down due to lack
of oxygen. Nuru returned in the nick of time.
The new oxygen tank took him as far as the Hillary step,
but no further. The extreme cold caused the oxygen to leak
on this tank as well. He was out of time and was advised
to turn back. The most frustrating part was that John could
hear climbers celebrating the summit just meters away from
him. He was just too close to give up. His Sherpa tried a
serendipitous last resort fix, as he dipped John’s canister into
a container of hot tea to melt the ice and make a seal. John’s
dream of hot tea, which had begun at the break of day, now
 Choosing to Climb 7

gave him just enough oxygen to get to the next level. He

eventually reached the summit at 5:48 a.m. on May 21, 2013,
a testament to his courage and to the ingenuity and wisdom
of his Sherpa (see Figure 1.2). He is one of the few who have
braved the weather and faced death with every step to make
it through the death zone and back to do what very few on
the planet have ever done—summit Mount Everest.
Mount Everest is not for everyone, and many people in
a climbing group don’t make it to the top. Although John
Beede did make it, he explains that the two months of prepa-
ration and climbing on the mountain can wear people down.
“Most people don’t realize that you have to attempt Mount
Everest three to four times before making it to the top to
acclimate your body.” There is no way your body would
make it without this acclimation strategy. He says, “The

Figure 1.2 John Beede with his Sherpa, Nuru, at the

summit of Mount Everest.
Source: Photo courtesy of John Beede.
8 Developing You

people who are strongest physically don’t always make it,

but rather it is the emotionally strong, the ones who can
work as a team and are willing to help others, who seem
to thrive.” More than anything, he emphasized, a successful
climb depended on the experience and quality of the Sherpa
as guide. John is still climbing mountains and spends the rest
of his time speaking to leaders on how to live and lead in the
midst of obstacles.

Aiming Higher

Our goal for this book is to help you climb your own leadership
Mount Everest—whether that be to lead a team, run a division
or a company, or raise a family at a higher level. We want you
to aim higher in your view of yourself and those you lead. We
want to be your Sherpas on a journey of intentional living, to
help you be the best leader in all the spheres of influence in
your life. And, we want you in turn to learn how to become a
Sherpa for others. We aim to get you to a place of 100% health
and influence, which means we need to help you acclimate
to higher levels on your journey of growth and self-awareness
before effectively leading others up their mountains.

100X

So, how do we get you to 100% health in your leadership, and

is it even possible? We want to introduce you to a symbol that
can be used by you inside your world to help shape the intent
of people becoming healthy leaders. That symbol is 100X.
The phrase 100X is simple and deep all at the same time.
The number 100 simply means reaching 100% of the desired
 Choosing to Climb 9

health or personal transformation of a person, encompassing

their emotional intelligence, mental ability, and holistic
leadership strength and effectiveness.
The hallmarks of a leader at 100% could look like the
following:

■■ They are secure in who they are and confident with their
abilities while remaining humble to those they serve.
■■ They are consistent in the way they lead so that people
can count on them.
■■ They are self-aware and responsive when they have erred.
■■ They are intently for their people, not against them, or
solely for themselves.
■■ They have something to give others because they
are full of the positive even in the midst of difficult
circumstances.

Although 100% is rarely reached, the aspiration of being

as healthy as a leader can be should be your goal—the ability
to know yourself and lead yourself in order to be the most
effective person/leader possible. The leadership journey is
similar to that which John Beede experienced with Nuru, his
Sherpa. We are simply your guides, focused on helping you
become the consistent, healthy leader you would love to be.
This journey, like climbing the highest mountain, will help
you acclimate at higher levels of living and leading. Some of
the exercises in this guidebook will make you feel like you
don’t have much oxygen as we encourage you to face yourself
and your tendencies in order to push you higher, but if you
commit to getting truly healthy and allow the process to do
its work, you are going to find yourself climbing at levels that
were once unattainable.
Random documents with unrelated
content Scribd suggests to you:
The Project Gutenberg eBook of The
Manchester Man
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United
States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away
or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License
included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you
are not located in the United States, you will have to check the
laws of the country where you are located before using this
eBook.

Title: The Manchester Man

Author: Mrs. G. Linnaeus Banks

Release date: January 17, 2021 [eBook #64320]

Language: English

Credits: Tim Lindell, Brian Wilcox and the Online Distributed

Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file
was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE

MANCHESTER MAN ***
 MRS. BANKS’S NOVELS.

THE MANCHESTER MAN.

THE FIGHT IN THE COLLEGE YARD.
THE MANCHESTER MAN.
BY

Mrs. G. LINNÆUS BANKS.

Author of “God’s Providence House, Glory,” &c.
Tenth Edition.
 OLD MARKET STREET.

Manchester:
ABEL HEYWOOD & SON, 56 & 58, OLDHAM STREET,

London:
SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT & Co., Limited.
STATIONERS’ HALL COURT.
1897.
 CONTENTS.
Chapter. Page.
I. The Flood 1
II. No One Knows 7
III. How the Rev. Joshua Brookes and Simon Clegg
interpreted a Shakesperian Text 14
IV. Mischief 22
V. Ellen Chadwick 28
VI. To Martial Music 36
VII. The Reverend Joshua Brookes 43
VIII. The Blue-Coat School 49
IX. The Snake 56
X. First Antagonism 64
XI. The Blue-Coat Boy 71
XII. The Gentleman 80
XIII. Simon’s Pupil 85
XIV. Jabez goes out into the World 91
XV. Apprenticeship 98
XVI. In War and Peace 105
XVII. In the Warehouse 113
XVIII. Easter Monday 121
XIX. Peterloo 128
XX. Action and Reaction 139
XXI. Wounded 146
XXII. Mr. Clegg 153
XXIII. In the Theatre Royal 161
XXIV. Madame Broadbent’s Fan 166
XXV. Retrospective 173
XXVI. On the Portico Steps 181
XXVII. Manhood 188
XXVIII. Once in a Life 194
XXIX. On Ardwick Green Pond 201
XXX. Blind 210
XXXI. Coronation Day 217
XXXII. Evening: Indoors and Out 225
XXXIII. Clogs 233
XXXIV. Birds of a Feather 240
XXXV. At Carr Cottage 246
XXXVI. The Lover’s Walk 254
XXXVII. A Ride on a Rainy Night 262
XXXVIII. Defeated 269
XXXIX. Like Father, Like Son 276
XL. With all His Faults 283
XLI. Marriage 290
XLII. Blows 298
XLIII. Partnership 307
XLIV. Man and Beast 316
XLV. Wounds Inflicted and Endured 325
XLVI. The Mower with His Scythe 333
XLVII. The Last Act 340

THE MANCHESTER MAN.

 CHAPTER THE FIRST.1

THE FLOOD.

WHEN Pliny lost his life, and Herculaneum was buried, Manchester
was born. Whilst lava and ashes blotted from sight and memory fair
and luxurious Roman cities close to the Capitol, the Roman soldiery
of Titus, under their general Agricola, laid the foundations of a
distant city which now competes with the great cities of the world.
Where now rise forests of tall chimneys, and the hum of whirling
spindles, spread the dense woods of Arden; and from the clearing in
their midst rose the Roman castrum of Mamutium,2 which has left its
name of Castle Field as a memorial to us. But where their summer
camp is said to have been pitched, on the airy rock at the confluence
of the rivers Irk and Irwell, sacred church and peaceful college have
stood for centuries, and only antiquaries can point to Roman
possession, or even to the baronial hall which the Saxon lord
perched there for security.
And only an antiquary or a very old inhabitant can recall
Manchester as it was at the close of the last century, and shutting
his eyes upon railway-arch, station, and esplanade, upon Palatine
buildings, broad roadways, and river embankments, can see the Irk
and the Irwell as they were when the Cathedral was the Collegiate
Church, with a diminutive brick wall round its ancient graveyard.
Then the irregular-fronted rows of quaint old houses which still,
under the name of Half Street, crowd upon two sides of the
churchyard, with only an intervening strip of a flagged walk
between, closed it up on a third side, and shut the river (lying low
beneath) from the view, with a huddled mass of still older dwellings,
some of which were thrust out of sight, and were only to be reached
by flights of break-neck steps of rock or stone, and like their hoary
fellows creeping down the narrow roadway of Hunt’s Bank, overhung
the Irwell, and threatened to topple into it some day.
 The Chetham Hospital or College still looks solidly down on the Irk
at the angle of the streams; the old Grammar School has been
suffered to do the same; and—thanks to the honest workmen who
built for our ancestors—the long lines of houses known as Long
Millgate are for the most part standing, and on the river side have
resisted the frequent floods of centuries.
In 1799 that line was almost unbroken, from the College (where it
commenced at Hunt’s Bank Bridge) to Red Bank. The little alley by
the Town Mill, called Mill-brow, which led down to the wooden Mill
Bridge, was little more of a gap than those narrow entries or
passages which pierced the walls like slits here and there, and
offered dark and perilous passage to courts and alleys, trending in
steep incline to the very bed of the Irk. The houses themselves had
been good originally, and were thus cramped together for defence in
perilous times, when experience taught that a narrow gorge was
easier held against warlike odds than an open roadway.
Ducie Bridge had then no existence, but Tanners’ Bridge—no
doubt a strong wooden structure like that at Mill-brow—accessible
from the street only by one of those narrow steep passages, stood
within a few yards of its site, and had a place on old maps so far
back as 1650. Its name is expressive, and goes to prove that the
tannery on the steep banks of the Irk, behind the houses of Long
Millgate opposite to the end of Miller’s Lane, was a tannery at least a
century and a half before old Simon Clegg worked amongst the tan-
pits, and called William Clough master.
To this sinuous and picturesque line of houses, the streams with
their rocky and precipitous banks will have served in olden times as
a natural defensive moat (indeed it is noticeable that old Manchester
kept pretty much within the angle of its rivers), and in 1799, from
one end of Millgate to the other, the dwellers by the waterside
looked across the stream on green and undulating uplands,
intersected by luxuriant hedgerows, a bleachery at Walker’s Croft,
and a short terrace of houses near Scotland Bridge, denominated
Scotland, being the sole breaks in the verdure.
 Between the tannery and Scotland Bridge, the river makes a sharp
bend; and here, at the elbow, another mill, with its corresponding
dam, was situated. The current of the Irk, if not deep, is strong at all
times, though kept by its high banks within narrow compass. But
when, as is not unseldom the case, there is a sudden flushing of
water from the hill-country, it rises, rises, rises, stealthily, though
swiftly, till the stream overtops its banks, washes over low-lying
bleach-crofts, fields, and gardens, mounts foot by foot over the
fertile slopes, invades the houses, and, like a mountain-robber
sweeping from his fastness on a peaceful vale, carries his spoil with
him, and leaves desolation and wailing behind.
Such a flood as this, following a heavy thunder-storm, devastated
the valley of the Irk, on the 17th of August, 1799.
Well was it then for the tannery and those houses on the bank of
the Irk which had their foundations in the solid rock, for the waters
surged and roared at their base and over pleasant meadows—a
wide-spread turbulent sea, with here and there an island of refuge,
which the day before had been a lofty mound.
The flood of the previous Autumn, when a coach and horses had
been swept down the Irwell, and men and women were drowned,
was as nothing to this. The tannery yard, high as it was above the
bed of the Irk, and solid as was its embankment, was threatened
with invasion. The surging water roared and beat against its
masonry, and licked its coping with frothy tongue and lip, like a
hungry giant, greedy for fresh food. Men with thick clogs and hide-
bound legs, leathern gloves and aprons, were hurrying to and fro
with barrows and bark-boxes for the reception of the valuable hides
which their mates, armed with long-shafted hooks and tongs, were
dragging from the pits pell-mell, ere the advancing waters should
encroach upon their territory, and empty the tan-pits for them.
Already the insatiate flood bore testimony to its ruthless greed.
Hanks of yarn, pieces of calico, hay, uptorn bushes, planks, chairs,
boxes, dog-kennels, and hen-coops, a shattered chest of drawers,
pots and pans, had swept past, swirling and eddying in the flood,
which by this time spread like a vast lake over the opposite lands,
and had risen within three feet of the arch of Scotland Bridge, and
hardly left a trace where the mill-dam chafed it commonly.
Too busy were the tanners, under the eye of their master, to
stretch out hand or hook to arrest the progress of either furniture or
live stock, though beehives and hen-coops, and more than one
squealing pig, went racing with the current, now rising towards the
footway of Tanner’s Bridge.
Every window of every house upon the banks was crowded with
anxious heads, for flooded Scotland rose like an island from the
watery waste, and their own cellars were fast filling. There had been
voices calling to each other from window to window all the morning;
but now from window to window, from house to house, rang one
reduplicated shriek, which caused many of the busy tanners to quit
their work, and rush to the water’s edge. To their horror, a painted
wooden cradle, which had crossed the deeply-submerged dam in
safety, was floating foot-foremost down to destruction, with an
infant calmly sleeping in its bed; the very motion of the waters
having seemingly lulled it to sounder repose!
“Good Lord! It’s a choilt!” exclaimed Simon Clegg, the eldest
tanner in the yard. “Lend a hand here, fur the sake o’ th’ childer at
whoam.”
Half a dozen hooks and plungers were outstretched, even while he
spoke; but the longest was lamentably too short to arrest the
approaching cradle in its course, and the unconscious babe seemed
doomed. With frantic haste Simon Clegg rushed on to Tanner’s
Bridge, followed by a boy; and there, with hook and plunger, they
met the cradle as it drifted towards them, afraid of over-balancing it
even in their attempt to save. It swerved, and almost upset; but
Simon dexterously caught his hook within the wooden hood, and
drew the frail bark and its living freight close to the bridge. The boy,
and a man named Cooper, lying flat on the bridge, then clutched at
it with extended hands, raised it carefully from the turbid water, and
drew it safely between the open rails to the footway, amidst the
shouts and hurrahs of breathless and excited spectators.
The babe was screaming terribly. The shock when the first hook
stopped the progress of the cradle had disturbed its dreams, and its
little fat arms were stretched out piteously as strange faces looked
down upon it instead of the mother’s familiar countenance.
Wrapping the patchwork quilt around it to keep it from contact with
his wet sleeves and apron, Simon tenderly as a woman, lifted the
infant in his rough arms, and strove to comfort it, but in vain. His
beard of three days growth was as a rasp to its soft skin, and the
closer he caressed, the more it screamed. The men from the tannery
came crowding round him.
“What dost ta mean to do wi’ th’ babby?” asked the man Cooper
of old Simon. “Aw’d tak’ it whoam to my missis, but th’ owd lass is
nowt to be takken to, an’ wur cross as two sticks when oi only axed
fur mi baggin to bring to wark wi’ mi this mornin’,” added he, with
rueful remembrance of the scolding wife on his hearth.
“Neay, lad, aw’ll not trust th’ poor choilt to thy Sally. It ’ud be loike
chuckin’ it out o’ th’ wayter into th’ fire (Hush-a-by, babby). Aw’ll just
take it to ar’ Bess, and hoo’ll cuddle it up, and gi’ it summat to sup,
till we find its own mammy,” answered Simon, leaving the bridge.
“Bring the kayther3 alung, Jack,” (to the boy) “Bess’ll want it. We’n
noan o’ that tackle at ar place. Hush-a-by, hush-a-by, babby.”
But the little thing, missing its natural protector, and half stifled in
the swathing quilt, only screamed the louder; and Simon,
notwithstanding his kind heart, was truly glad when his daughter
Bess, who had witnessed the rescue from their own window, met
him at the tannery gate, and relieved him of his struggling charge.
“Si thi, Bess! here’s a God-send fur thi—a poor little babby fur thi
to tend an’ be koind to, till them it belungs to come a-seekin’ fur it,”
said he to the young woman; “but thah mun give it summat better
than cowd wayter—it’s had too mich o’ that a’ready.”
 “That aw will, poor darlin’!” responded she, kissing the babe’s
velvet cheeks as, sensible of a change of nurses, it nestled to her
breast. “Eh! but there’ll be sore hearts for this blessed babby,
somewheere.” And she turned up the narrow passage which led at
once from the tan-yard and the bridge, stilling and soothing the little
castaway as adroitly as an experienced nurse.
“Neaw, luk thi, lad,” Simon remarked to Cooper; “is na it fair
wonderful heaw that babby taks to ar Bess? But it’s just a way hoo
has, an’ theere is na a fractious choilt i’ a’ ar yard but’ll be quiet wi’
Bess.”
Cooper looked after her, nodded an assent, and sighed, as if he
wished some one in another yard had the same soothing way with
her.
But the voice of the raging water had not stilled like that of the
rescued infant. Back went the two men to their task, and worked
away with a will to carry hides, bark and implements to places of
security. And as they hurried to and fro with loads on back or
barrow, up, up, inch by inch, foot by foot, the swelling flood rose still
higher, till, lapping the foot-bridge, curling over the embankment, it
drove the sturdy tanners back, flung itself into the pits, and, in many
a swirling eddy, washed tan and hair and skins into the common
current.
Not so much, however, went into its seething caldron as might
have been, had the men worked with less vigour; and, quick to
recognise the value of ready service, Mr. Clough led his drenched
and weary workmen to the “Skinner’s Arms,” in Long Millgate, and
ordered a supply of ale and bread and cheese to be served out to
them.
At the door of the public-house, where he left the workmen to the
enjoyment of this impromptu feast, he encountered Simon Clegg.
The kind fellow had taken a hasty run to his own tenement, “just to
see heaw ar Bess an’ th’ babby get on;” and he brought back the
intelligence that it was “a lad, an’ as good as goold.”
 “Oh, my man, I’ve been too much occupied to speak to you
before,” cried Mr. Clough. “I saw you foremost in the rescue of that
unfortunate infant, and shall not forget it. Here is a crown for your
share in the good deed. I suppose that was the child’s mother you
gave it to?”
Simon was a little man, but he drew back with considerable native
dignity.
“Thenk yo’, measter, all th’ same, but aw connot tak’ brass fur just
doin’ my duty. Aw’d never ha slept i’ my bed gin that little un had bin
dreawned, an’ me lookin’ on loike a stump. Neay; that lass wur Bess,
moi wench. We’n no notion wheer th’ lad’s mother is.”
Mr. Clough would have pressed the money upon him, but he put it
back with a motion of his hand.
“No, sir; aw’m a poor mon, a varry poor mon, but aw connot tak’
money fur savin’ a choilt’s life. It’s agen’ mi conscience. I’ll tak’ mi
share o’ the bread an’ cheese, an’ drink yo’r health i’ a sup o’ ale,
but aw cudna’ tak’ that brass if aw wur deein’.”
And Simon, giving a scrape with his clog, and a duck of his head,
meant for a bow, passed his master respectfully, and went clattering
up the steps of the “Skinners’ Arms,” leaving the gentleman standing
there, and looking after him in mingled astonishment and
admiration.
 CHAPTER THE SECOND.

NO ONE KNOWS.

WHEN the scurrying water, thick with sand and mud, and
discoloured with dye stuffs, which floated in brightly-tinted patches
on its surface, filled the arch of Scotland Bridge, and left only the
rails of Tanners’ Bridge visible, the inundation reached its climax; but
a couple of days elapsed before the flood subsided below the level of
the unprotected tannery-yard, and until then neither Simon Clegg
nor his mates could resume their occupations.
There was a good deal of lounging about Long Millgate and the
doors of the “Queen Anne” and “Skinners’ Arms,” of heavily-shod
men, in rough garniture of thick hide—armoury against the tan and
water in which their daily bread was steeped.
But in all those two days no anxious father, no white-faced mother,
had run from street to street, and house to house, to seek and claim
a rescued living child. No, not even when the week had passed,
though the story of his “miraculous preservation” was the theme of
conversation at the tea-tables of gentility and in the bar-parlours of
taverns; was the gossip of courts and alleys, highways and byways;
and though echo, in the guise of a “flying stationer,” caught it up and
spread it broadcast in catchpenny sheets, far beyond the confines of
the inundation.
This was the more surprising as no dead bodies had been washed
down the river, and no lives were reported “lost.” Had the child no
one to care for it?—no relative to whom its little life was precious?
Had it been abandoned to its fate, a waif unloved, uncared for?
The house in which Simon Clegg lived was situated at the very
end of Skinners’ Yard, a cul-de-sac, to which the only approach was
a dark covered entry, not four feet wide. The pavement of the yard
was natural rock, originally hewn into broad flat steps, but then
worn with water from the skies, and from house-wifely pails, and the
tramp of countless clogs, to a rugged steep incline, asking wary
stepping from the stranger on exploration after nightfall. Gas was, of
course, unknown, but not even an oil-lamp lit up the gloom.
In the sunken basement a tripe-boiler had a number of stone
troughs or cisterns, for keeping his commodities cool for sale. The
three rooms of Simon Clegg were situated immediately above these,
two small bed-rooms overlooking the river and pleasant green fields
beyond; the wide kitchen window having no broader range of
prospect than the dreary and not too savoury yard. Even this view
was shut out by a batting frame, resembling much a long, narrow
French bedstead, all the more that on it was laid a thick bed of raw
(that is, undressed) cotton, freckled with seeds and fine bits of
husky pod. Bess was a batter, and her business was to turn and beat
the clotted mass with stout lithe arms and willow-wands, until the
fibres loosened, the seeds and specks fell through, and a billowy
mass of whitish down lay before her. It was not a healthy
occupation: dust and flue released found their way into the lungs, as
well as on to the floor and furniture; and a rosy-cheeked batter was
a myth. Machinery does the work now—but this history deals with
then!
During the week dust lay thick on everything; even Bessy’s hair
was fluffy as a bursting cotton pod, in spite of the kerchief tied
across it; but on the Saturday, when she had carried her work to
Simpson’s factory in Miller’s Lane, and came back with her wages,
broom and duster cleared away the film; wax and brush polished up
the oak bureau, the pride and glory of their kitchen; the two slim
iron candlesticks, fender and poker were burnished bright as steel;
the three-legged round deal table was scrubbed white; and then,
mounted on tall pattens, she set about with mop and pail, and a
long-handled stone, to cleanse the flag floor from the week’s
impurities.
She had had a good mother, and, to the best of her ability, Bess
tried to follow in her footsteps, and fill the vacant place on her
father’s hearth, and in his heart. Her mother had been dead four
years, and Bess, now close upon twenty, had since then lost two
brothers, and lamented as lost one dearer than a brother—the two
former by death, the other by the fierce demands of war. She had a
pale, interesting face, with dark hair and thoughtful, deep grey eyes,
and was, if anything, too quiet and staid for her years; but when her
face lit up she had as pleasant a smile upon it as one would wish to
see by one’s fireside, and not even her dialect could make her voice
otherwise than low and gentle.
Both her brothers had been considerably younger than herself;
and possibly the fact of having stood in loco parentis to them for
upwards of two years had imparted to her the air of motherliness
she possessed. Certain it is that if a child in the yard scalded itself,
or cut a finger, or knocked the bark off an angular limb, it went
crying to Bessy Clegg in preference to its own mother; and she
healed bruises and quarrels with the same balsam—loving sympathy.
She was just the one to open her arms and heart to a poor
motherless babe, and Simon Clegg knew it.
Old Simon, or old Clegg, he was called, probably because he was
graver and more serious than his fellows, and had never changed his
master since he grew to manhood; certainly not on account of his
age, which trembled on the verge of fifty only. He was a short,
somewhat spare man, with a face deeply lined by sorrow for the
loved ones he had lost. But he had a merry twinkling eye, and was
not without a latent vein of humour. The atmosphere of the tannery
might have shrivelled his skin, but it had not withered his heart; and
when he handed the child he had saved to his daughter, he never
stopped to calculate contingencies.
The boy, apparently between two and three months’ old, was
dressed in a long gown of printed linen, had a muslin cap, and an
under one of flannel, all neatly made, but neither in make nor
material beyond those of a respectable working-man’s child; and
there was not a mark upon anything which could give a clue to its
parentage.
 The painted wooden cradle, which had been to it an ark of safety,
was placed in a corner by the fireplace; and an old bottle, filled with
thin gruel, over the neck of which Bess had tied a loose cap of
punctured wash-leather, was so adjusted that the little one, deprived
of its mother, could lie within and feed itself whilst Bess industriously
pursued her avocations.
These were not times for idleness. There had been bread-riots the
previous winter; food still was at famine prices; and it was all a poor
man could do, with the strictest industry and economy, to obtain a
bare subsistence. So Bess worked away all the harder, because there
were times when babydom was imperative, and would be nursed.
She had put the last garnishing touches to her kitchen on
Saturday night, had taken off her wrapper-brat,4 put on a clean
blue, bedgown,5 and substituted a white linen cap for the coloured
kerchief, when her father, who had been to New Cross Market to
make his bargains by himself on this occasion, came into the
kitchen, followed by Cooper, who having helped to save the child,
naturally felt an interest in him.
The iron porridge-pot was on the low fire, and Bess, sifting the
oatmeal into the boiling water with the left hand, whilst with the
other she beat it swiftly with her porridge-stick, was so intent on the
preparation of their supper, she did not notice their entrance until
her father, putting his coarse wicker market-basket down on her
white table, bade Cooper “Coom in an’ tak’ a cheer.”
Instead of taking a chair, the man walked as quietly as his clogs
would let him to the cradle, and looked down on the infant sucking
vigorously at the delusive bottle. Mat Cooper was the unhappy father
of eight, whose maintenance was a sore perplexity to him; and it
may be supposed he spoke with authority when he exclaimed—
“Whoy, he tak’s t’ th’ pap-bottle as nat’rally as if he’n ne’er had
nowt else!”
And the big man—quite a contrast to Simon—stooped and lifted
the babe from the cradle with all the ease of long practice, and
dandled it in his arms, saying as he did so,
“Let’s hey a look at th’ little chap. Aw’ve not seen the colour o’ his
eyen yet.”
The eyes were grey, so dark they might have passed for black;
and there was in them more than the ordinary inquiring gaze of
babyhood.
“Well, thah’rt a pratty lad; but had thah bin th’ fowest6 i’ o’
Lankisheer, aw’d a-thowt thi mammy’d ha’ speered7 fur thi afore
this,” added he, sitting down, and nodding to the child, which
crowed in his face.
“Ah! one would ha’ reckoned so,” assented Bess, without turning
round.
“What ar’ ta gooin’ to do, Simon, toward fandin’ th’ choilt’s kin?”
next questioned their visitor.
Simon looked puzzled
“Whoy, aw’ve hardly gi’en it a thowt.”
But the question, once started, was discussed at some length.
Meanwhile the porridge destined for two Bess poured into three
bowls, placing three iron spoons beside them, with no more
ceremony than, “Ye’ll tak’ a sup wi’ us, Mat.”
Mat apologised, feeling quite assured there was no more than the
two could have eaten; but Simon looked hurt, and the porridge was
appetising to a hungry man; so he handed the baby to the young
woman, took up his spoon, and the broken thread of conversation
was renewed at intervals. What they said matters not so much as
what they did.
The next morning being Sunday, Cooper called for Clegg just as
the bells were ringing for church; and the two, arrayed in their best
fustian breeches, long-tailed, deep-cuffed coats, knitted hose, three-
cornered hats, and shoes, only kept for Sunday wear, set out to seek
the parents of the unclaimed infant, nothing doubting that they were
going to carry solace to sorrowing hearts.
Their course lay in the same track as the Irk, now pursuing its
course as smilingly under the bright August sun as though its banks
were not strewed with wreck, and foul with thick offensive mud, and
the woeful devastation were none of its doing. There were fewer
houses on their route than now, and they kept close as possible to
the course of the river, questioning the various inhabitants as they
went along. They had gone through Collyhurst and Blakely without
rousing anyone to a thought beyond self-sustained damage, or
gaining a single item of intelligence, though they made many a
detour in quest of it. At a roadside public-house close to Middleton
they sat down parched with heat and thirst, called for a mug of ale
each, drew from their pockets thick hunks of brown bread and
cheese, wrapped in blue and white check handkerchiefs, and whilst
satisfying their hunger, came to the conclusion that no cradle could
have drifted safely so far, crossing weirs and mill dams amongst
uprooted bushes, timber, and household chattels and that it was
best to turn back.
In Smedley Vale, where the flood seemed to have done its worst,
and where a small cottage close to the river lay in ruins, a knot of
people were gathered together talking and gesticulating as if in
eager controversy. As they approached, they were spied by one of
the group.
“Here are th’ chaps as fund th’ babby, an’ want’n to know who it
belungs to,” cried he, a youth whom they had interrogated early in
the day.
To tell in brief what Simon and his companion learned by slow
degrees—the hapless child was alone in the world, orphaned by a
succession of misfortunes. The dilapidated cottage had been for
some fifteen months the home of its parents. The father, who was
understood to have come from Crumpsall with his young wife and
her aged mother, had been sent for to attend the death-bed of a
brother in Liverpool, and had never been heard of since. The alarm
and trouble consequent upon his prolonged absence prostrated the
young wife and caused not only the babe’s premature birth, but the
mother’s death. The care of the child had devolved upon the stricken
grandmother, who had him brought up by hand, as Matthew’s
sagacity had suggested. She was a woman far advanced in years,
and feeble, but she asked no help from neighbours or parish, though
her poverty was apparent. She kept poultry and knitted stockings,
and managed to eke out a living somehow, but how, none of those
scattered neighbours seemed to know—she had “held her yead so
hoigh” (pursued her way so quietly).
She had been out in her garden feeding her fowls, when the flood
came upon them without warning, swept through the open doors of
the cottage, and carried cradle and everything else before it, leaving
hardly a wall standing. In endeavouring to save the child she herself
got seriously hurt, and was with difficulty rescued. But between grief
and fright, bruises and the drenching, the old dame succumbed, and
died on the Thursday morning, and had been buried by the parish—
from which in life she had proudly kept aloof—that very afternoon,
and no one could tell other name she had borne than Nan.
Bess sobbed aloud when she heard her father’s recital which lost
nothing of its pathos from the homely vernacular in which it was
couched.
“An’ what’s to be done neaw?” asked Cooper, as he sat on one of
the rush-bottomed chairs, sucking the knob of his walking-stick, as if
for an inspiration. “Yo canno’ think o’ keeping th’ choilt, an’ bread an’
meal at sich a proice!”
“Connot oi? Then aw conno’ think o’ aught else. Wouldst ha’ me
chuck it i’ th’ river agen? What dost thah say, Bess?” turning to his
daughter, who had the child on her lap.
“Whoi, th’ poor little lad’s got noather feyther nor mother, an’
thah’s lost boath o’ thi lads. Mebbe it’s a Godsend, feyther, after o’,
as yo said’n to me,” and she kissed it tenderly.
 “Eh, wench!” interposed Matthew, but she went on without
heeding him.
“There’s babby clooas laid by i’ lavender i’ thoase drawers as
hasna seen dayleet sin ar Joe wur a toddler, an’ they’ll just come
handy. An’ if bread’s dear an’ meal’s dear, we mun just ate less on it
arsels, an’ there’ll be moore fur the choilt. He’ll pay yo back, feyther,
aw know, when yo’re too owd to wark.”
“An’ aw con do ’bout ’bacca, lass. If the orphan’s granny wur too
preawd to ax help o’ th’ parish, aw’ll be too preawd to send her
pratty grandchoilt theer.”
An so, to Matthew Cooper’s amazement, it was settled. But the
extra labour and self-denial it involved on the part of Bess, neither
Matthew nor Simon could estimate.
In the midst of the rabid scepticism and Republicanism of the
period, Simon Clegg was a staunch “Church and King” man, and, as
a natural consequence, a stout upholder of their ordinances.
Regularly as the bell tolled in for Sunday morning service, he might
be seen walking reverently down the aisle of the old church, to his
place in the free seats, with his neat, cheerful-looking daughter
following him sometimes, but not always—so regularly that the stout
beadle missed him from his seat the Sunday after the inundation,
and meeting him in the churchyard a week later, sought to learn the
why and wherefore.
The beadle of the parish church was an important personage in
the eyes of Simon Clegg; and, somewhat proud of his notice, the
little tanner related the incidents of that memorable flood-week to
his querist, concluding with his adoption of the child.
The official h’md and ha’d, applauded the act, but shook his
powdered head, and added, sagely, that it was a “greeat charge, a
varry greeat charge.”
“Dun yo’ think th’ little un’s bin babtised?” interrogated the beadle.
 “Aw conno’ tell; nob’dy couldn’t tell nowt abeawt th’ choilt, ’ut wur
ony use to onybody. Bess an’ me han talked it ower, an’ we wur
thinkin o’ bringin’ it to be kirsened, to be on th’ safe soide loike. Aw
reckon it wouldna do th’ choilt ony harm to be kirsened twoice ower;
an’ ’twoud be loike flingin’ th’ choilt’s soul to Owd Scrat gin he wur
no kirsened at o’. What dun yo’ thinken’?”
The beadle thought pretty much the same as Simon, and it was
finally arranged that Simon should present the young foundling for
baptism in the course of the week.
 CHAPTER THE THIRD.8

HOW THE REV. JOSHUA BROOKES AND SIMON CLEGG

INTERPRETED A SHAKESPERIAN TEXT.

MANCHESTER had at that date two eccentric clergymen attached to

the Collegiate Church. The one, Parson Gatliffe, a fine man, a
polished gentleman, an eloquent preacher, but a bon vivant of whom
many odd stories are told. The other, the Reverend Joshua Brookes,
a short, stumpy man (so like to the old knave of clubs in mourning
that the sobriquet of the “Knave of Clubs” stuck to him), was a
rough, crusted, unpolished black-diamond, hasty in temper, harsh in
tone, blunt in speech and in the pulpit, but with a true heart beating
under the angular external crystals; and he was a good liver of
another sort than his colleague.
He was the son of a crippled and not too sober shoemaker, who,
when the boy’s intense desire for learning had attracted the
attention and patronage of Parson Ainscough, went to the homes of
several of the wealthy denizens of the town, to ask for pecuniary aid
to send his son Joshua to college. The youth’s scholarly attainments
had already obtained him an exhibition at the Free Grammar School,
which, coupled with the donations obtained by his father and the
helping hand of Parson Ainscough, enabled him to keep his terms
and to graduate at Brazenose, to become a master in the grammar
school in which he had been taught, and a chaplain in the Collegiate
Church.
So conscientious was he in the performance of his sacred duties
that, albeit he was wont to exercise his calling after a peculiarly
rough fashion of his own, he married, christened, buried more
people during his ministry than all the other ecclesiastics put
together.