"Unless you go far, very far north indeed, you will hardly find a more
primitive place than the little village of Penellan, which nestles quite
close to the sea on the southern coast of Cornwall. I say it _nestles_,
and so it does, and nice and cosy it looks down there, in a kind of
glen, with green hills rising on either side of it, with its pebbly
beach and the ever-sounding sea in front of it.
"It was at Widow Webber's hostelry that there arrived, many years ago,
the hero, or rather heroes, of this short tale. Spring was coming in,
the gardens were already gay with flowers, and the roses that trailed
around the windows and porches of the pilchard fishermen's huts were all
in bud, and promised soon to show a wealth of bloom.
"Now, not only Widow Webber herself, but the whole village, were on
tiptoe to find out who the two strangers were and what could possibly be
their reason for coming to such a little outlying place--fifteen miles,
mind you, from the nearest railway town. It appeared they were not
likely soon to be satisfied, for the human stranger--the other was his
beautiful Newfoundland retriever, `Sindbad'--simply took the widow's
best room for three months, and in less than a week he seemed to have
settled down as entirely in the place, as though he had been born there,
and had never been out of it. The most curious part of the business was
that he never told his name, and he never even received a letter or a
visitor. He walked about much out of doors, and over the hills, and he
hired a boat by the month, and used to go long cruises among the rocks,
at times not returning until sun was set, and the bright stars twinkling
in the sky. He sketched a great deal, too--made pictures, the pilchard
fishermen called it. Was he an artist? Perhaps.
"The `gentleman,' as he was always called, had a kind word and a
pleasant smile, for every one, and his dog Sindbad was a universal
favourite with the village children. How they laughed to see him go
splashing into the water! And the wilder the sea, and the bigger the
waves, the more the dog seemed to enjoy the fun.
"Being so quiet and neighbourly, it might have been thought that the
gentleman would have been as much a favourite with the grown-up people
as Sindbad was with the young folk. Alas! for the charity of this
world, he was not so at first. Where, they wondered, did he come from?
Why didn't he give his name, and tell his story? It couldn't possibly
be all right, they felt sure of that.
"But when the summer wore away, and winter came round, and those
policemen, whom they fully expected to one day take the gentleman away,
never came, and when the gentleman seemed more a fixture than ever, they
began to soften down, and to treat him as quite one of themselves.
Sindbad had been one of them for a very long time, ever since he had
pulled the baker's little Polly out of the sea when she fell over a
rock, and would assuredly have been drowned except for the gallant dog's
timely aid.
"So they were content at last to take the gentleman just as they had
him.
"`Concerts!' cried Widow Webber one evening, in reply to a remark made
by the stranger. `Why, sir, concerts in our little village! Whoever
will sing?'
"But the stranger only laid down his book with a quiet smile, and asked
the widow to take a seat near the fire, and he would tell her all about
it.
"With honest Sindbad asleep on the hearthrug, and pussy singing beside
him, and the kettle singing too, and a bright fire in the grate, the
room looked quite cosy and snug-like. So the poor widow sat down, and
the stranger unfolded all his plans.
"And it all fell out just as the stranger wished it. He was an
accomplished pianist, and also a good performer on the violin. And he
had good-humour and tact, and the way he kept his class together, and
drew them out, and made them all feel contented with their efforts and
happy, was perfectly wonderful. The first concert was a grand success,
a crowded house, though the front seats were only sixpence and the back
twopence. And all the proceeds were handed over to the clergyman to buy
books and magazines.
"So the winter passed more quickly and cheerfully than any one ever
remembered a winter to pass before, and summer came once more.
"It would need volumes, not pages, to tell of all poor Sindbad's clever
ways. Indeed, he became quite the village dog; he would go errands for
any one, and always went to the right shop with his basket. Every
morning, with a penny in his mouth, he went trotting away to the
carrier's and bought a paper for his master; after that he was free to
romp and play all the livelong day with the children on the beach. It
might be said of Sindbad as Professor Wilson said of his beautiful
dog--`_Not_ a child of three years old and upwards in the neighbourhood
that had not hung by his mane and played with his paws, and been
affectionately worried by him on the flowery greensward.'
"Another winter went by quite as cheerily as the last, and the stranger
was by this time as much a favourite as his dog. The villagers had
found out now that he was not by any means a rich man, although he had
enough to live on; but they liked him none the less for that.
"The Easter moon was full, and even on the wane, for it did not, at the
time I refer to, rise till late in the evening. A gale had been blowing
all day, the sea was mountains high, for the wind roared wildly from off
the broad Atlantic. One hundred years ago, if the truth must be told,
the villagers of Penellan would have welcomed such a gale; it might
bring them wealth. They had been wreckers.
"Every one was about retiring for rest, when boom boom! from out of the
darkness seaward came the roar of a minute gun. Some great ship was on
the rocks not far off. Boom! and no assistance could be given. There
was no rocket, no lifeboat, and no ordinary boat could live in that sea.
Boom! Everybody was down on the beach, and ere long the great red moon
rose and showed, as had been expected, the dark hull of a ship fast on
the rocks, with her masts gone by the board, and the sea making a clean
breach over her. The villagers were brave; they attempted to launch a
boat. It was staved, and dashed back on the beach.
"`Come round to the point, men,' cried the stranger. `I will send
Sindbad with a line.'
"The point was a rocky promontory almost to windward of the stranded
vessel.
"The mariners on board saw the fire lighted there, and they saw that
preparations of some kind were being made to save them, and at last they
discerned some dark object rising and falling on the waves, but steadily
approaching them. It was Sindbad; the piece of wood he bore in his
mouth had attached to it a thin line.
"For a long time--it seemed ages to those poor sailors--the dog
struggled on and on towards them. And now he is alongside.
"`Good dog!' they cry, and a sailor is lowered to catch the morsel of
wood. He does so, and tries hard to catch the dog as well. But Sindbad
has now done his duty, and prepares to swim back.
"Poor faithful, foolish fellow! if he had but allowed the sea to carry
him towards the distant beach. But no; he must battle against it with
the firelight as his beacon.
"And in battling _he died_.
"But communication was effected by Sindbad betwixt the ship and the
shore, and all on board were landed safely.
"Need I tell of the grief of that dog's master? Need I speak of the
sorrow of the villagers? No; but if you go to Penellan, if you inquire
about Sindbad, children even yet will show you his grave, in a green
nook near the beach, where the crimson sea-pinks bloom.
"And older folk will point you out `the gentleman's grave' in the old
churchyard. He did not _very_ long survive Sindbad.
"The grey-bearded old pilchard fisherman who showed it to me only two
summers ago, when I was there, said--
"`Ay, sir! there he do lie, and the sod never hid a warmer heart than
his. The lifeboat, sir? Yes, sir, it's down yonder; his money bought
it. There is more than me, sir, has shed a tear over him. You see, we
weren't charitable to him at first. Ah, sir! what a blessed thing
charity do be!'"