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257
Cranford
·
Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell
76
I
can’t
quite
remember
the
date,
but
I
think
it
was
in
1805
that
Miss
Jenkyns
wrote
the
longest
series
of
letters—
on
occasion
of
her
absence
on
a
visit
to
some
friends
near
Newcastle-upon-Tyne.
These
friends
were
intimate
with
the
commandant
of
the
garrison
there,
and
heard
from
him
of
all
the
preparations
that
were
being
made
to
repel
the
invasion
of
Buonaparte,
which
some
people
imagined
might
take
place
at
the
mouth
of
the
Tyne.
Miss
Jenkyns
was
evidently
very
much
alarmed;
and
the
first
part
of
her
letters
was
often
written
in
pretty
intelligible
English,
conveying
particulars
of
the
preparations
which
were
made
in
the
family
with
whom
she
was
residing
against
the
dreaded
event;
the
bundles
of
clothes
that
were
packed
up
ready
for
a
flight
to
Alston
Moor
(a
wild
hilly
piece
of
ground
between
Northumberland
and
Cumberland);
the
signal
that
was
to
be
given
for
this
flight,
and
for
the
simultaneous
turning
out
of
the
volunteers
under
arms—
which
said
signal
was
to
consist
(if
I
remember
rightly)
in
ringing
the
church
bells
in
a
particular
and
ominous
manner.
One
day,
when
Miss
Jenkyns
and
her
hosts
were
at
a
dinner-party
in
Newcastle,
this
warning
summons
was
actually
given
(not
a
very
wise
proceeding,
if
there
be
any
truth
in
the
moral
attached
to
the
fable
of
the
Boy
and
the
Wolf;
but
so
it
was),
and
Miss
Jenkyns,
hardly
recovered
from
her
fright,
wrote
the
next
day
to
describe
the
sound,
the
breathless
shock,
the
hurry
and
alarm;
and
then,
taking
breath,
she
added,
“How
trivial,
my
dear
father,
do
all
our
apprehensions
of
the
last
evening
appear,
at
the
present
moment,
to
calm
and
enquiring
minds!”
And
here
Miss
Matty
broke
in
with—
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