THE FLOODS
Then banks came down with ruin and rout,
Then beaten spray flew round about,
Then all the mighty floods were out,
And all the world was in the sea _--Jean Ingelow_
On the third of November, a few days after this visit to the Why Not?,
the wind, which had been blowing from the south-west, began about four in
the afternoon to rise in sudden strong gusts. The rooks had been
pitch-falling all the morning, so we knew that bad weather was due; and
when we came out from the schooling that Mr. Glennie gave us in the hall
of the old almshouses, there were wisps of thatch, and even stray tiles,
flying from the roofs, and the children sang:
Blow wind, rise storm,
Ship ashore before morn.
It is heathenish rhyme that has come down out of other and worse times;
for though I do not say but that a wreck on Moonfleet beach was looked
upon sometimes as little short of a godsend, yet I hope none of us were
so wicked as to _wish_ a vessel to be wrecked that we might share in the
plunder. Indeed, I have known the men of Moonfleet risk their own lives a
hundred times to save those of shipwrecked mariners, as when the
_Darius_, East Indiaman, came ashore; nay, even poor nameless corpses
washed up were sure of Christian burial, or perhaps of one of Master
Ratsey's headstones to set forth sex and date, as may be seen in the
churchyard to this day.
Our village lies near the centre of Moonfleet Bay, a great bight twenty
miles across, and a death-trap to up-channel sailors in a
south-westerly gale. For with that wind blowing strong from south, if
you cannot double the Snout, you must most surely come ashore; and many
a good ship failing to round that point has beat up and down the bay
all day, but come to beach in the evening. And once on the beach, the
sea has little mercy, for the water is deep right in, and the waves
curl over full on the pebbles with a weight no timbers can withstand.
Then if poor fellows try to save themselves, there is a deadly
under-tow or rush back of the water, which sucks them off their legs,
and carries them again under the thundering waves. It is that back-suck
of the pebbles that you may hear for miles inland, even at Dorchester,
on still nights long after the winds that caused it have sunk, and
which makes people turn in their beds, and thank God they are not
fighting with the sea on Moonfleet beach.
But on this third of November there was no wreck, only such a wind as I
have never known before, and only once since. All night long the tempest
grew fiercer, and I think no one in Moonfleet went to bed; for there was
such a breaking of tiles and glass, such a banging of doors and rattling
of shutters, that no sleep was possible, and we were afraid besides lest
the chimneys should fall and crush us. The wind blew fiercest about five
in the morning, and then some ran up the street calling out a new
danger--that the sea was breaking over the beach, and that all the place
was like to be flooded. Some of the women were for flitting forthwith and
climbing the down; but Master Ratsey, who was going round with others to
comfort people, soon showed us that the upper part of the village stood
so high, that if the water was to get thither, there was no knowing if it
would not cover Ridgedown itself. But what with its being a spring-tide,
and the sea breaking clean over the great outer beach of pebbles--a thing
that had not happened for fifty years--there was so much water piled up
in the lagoon, that it passed its bounds and flooded all the sea meadows,
and even the lower end of the street. So when day broke, there was the
churchyard flooded, though 'twas on rising ground, and the church itself
standing up like a steep little island, and the water over the door-sill
of the Why Not?, though Elzevir Block would not budge, saying he did not
care if the sea swept him away. It was but a nine-hours' wonder, for the
wind fell very suddenly; the water began to go back, the sun shone
bright, and before noon people came out to the doors to see the floods
and talk over the storm. Most said that never had been so fierce a wind,
but some of the oldest spoke of one in the second year of Queen Anne, and
would have it as bad or worse. But whether worse or not, this storm was a
weighty matter enough for me, and turned the course of my life, as you
shall hear.
I have said that the waters came up so high that the church stood out
like an island; but they went back quickly, and Mr. Glennie was able to
hold service on the next Sunday morning. Few enough folks came to
Moonfleet Church at any time; but fewer still came that morning, for
the meadows between the village and the churchyard were wet and miry
from the water. There were streamers of seaweed tangled about the very
tombstones, and against the outside of the churchyard wall was piled up
a great bank of it, from which came a salt rancid smell like a
guillemot's egg that is always in the air after a south-westerly gale
has strewn the shore with wrack.
This church is as large as any other I have seen, and divided into two
parts with a stone screen across the middle. Perhaps Moonfleet was once a
large place, and then likely enough there were people to fill such a
church, but never since I knew it did anyone worship in that part called
the nave. This western portion was quite empty beyond a few old tombs and
a Royal Arms of Queen Anne; the pavement too was damp and mossy; and
there were green patches down the white walls where the rains had got in.
So the handful of people that came to church were glad enough to get the
other side of the screen in the chancel, where at least the pew floors
were boarded over, and the panelling of oak-work kept off the draughts.
Now this Sunday morning there were only three or four, I think, beside
Mr. Glennie and Ratsey and the half-dozen of us boys, who crossed the
swampy meadows strewn with drowned shrew-mice and moles. Even my aunt was
not at church, being prevented by a migraine, but a surprise waited those
who did go, for there in a pew by himself sat Elzevir Block. The people
stared at him as they came in, for no one had ever known him go to church
before; some saying in the village that he was a Catholic, and others an
infidel. However that may be, there he was this day, wishing perhaps to
show a favour to the parson who had written the verses for David's
headstone. He took no notice of anyone, nor exchanged greetings with
those that came in, as was the fashion in Moonfleet Church, but kept his
eyes fixed on a prayer-book which he held in his hand, though he could
not be following the minister, for he never turned the leaf.
The church was so damp from the floods, that Master Ratsey had put a fire
in the brazier which stood at the back, but was not commonly lighted till
the winter had fairly begun. We boys sat as close to the brazier as we
could, for the wet cold struck up from the flags, and besides that, we
were so far from the clergyman, and so well screened by the oak backs,
that we could bake an apple or roast a chestnut without much fear of
being caught. But that morning there was something else to take off our
thoughts; for before the service was well begun, we became aware of a
strange noise under the church. The first time it came was just as Mr.
Glennie was finishing 'Dearly Beloved', and we heard it again before the
second lesson. It was not a loud noise, but rather like that which a boat
makes jostling against another at sea, only there was something deeper
and more hollow about it. We boys looked at each other, for we knew what
was under the church, and that the sound could only come from the Mohune
Vault. No one at Moonfleet had ever seen the inside of that vault; but
Ratsey was told by his father, who was clerk before him, that it underlay
half the chancel, and that there were more than a score of Mohunes lying
there. It had not been opened for over forty years, since Gerald Mohune,
who burst a blood-vessel drinking at Weymouth races, was buried there;
but there was a tale that one Sunday afternoon, many years back, there
had come from the vault so horrible and unearthly a cry, that parson and
people got up and fled from the church, and would not worship there for
weeks afterwards.
We thought of these stories, and huddled up closer to the brazier, being
frightened at the noise, and uncertain whether we should not turn tail
and run from the church. For it was certain that something was moving in
the Mohune vault, to which there was no entrance except by a ringed stone
in the chancel floor, that had not been lifted for forty years.
However, we thought better of it, and did not budge, though I could see
when standing up and looking over the tops of the seats that others
beside ourselves were ill at ease; for Granny Tucker gave such starts
when she heard the sounds, that twice her spectacles fell off her nose
into her lap, and Master Ratsey seemed to be trying to mask the one noise
by making another himself, whether by shuffling with his feet or by
thumping down his prayer-book. But the thing that most surprised me was
that even Elzevir Block, who cared, men said, for neither God nor Devil,
looked unquiet, and gave a quick glance at Ratsey every time the sound
came. So we sat till Mr. Glennie was well on with the sermon. His
discourse interested me though I was only a boy, for he likened life to
the letter 'Y', saying that 'in each man's life must come a point where
two roads part like the arms of a "Y", and that everyone must choose for
himself whether he will follow the broad and sloping path on the left or
the steep and narrow path on the right. For,' said he, 'if you will look
in your books, you will see that the letter "Y" is not like the Mohunes',
with both arms equal, but has the arm on the left broader and more
sloping than the arm on the right; hence ancient philosophers hold that
this arm on the left represents the easy downward road to destruction,
and the arm on the right the narrow upward path of life.' When we heard
that we all fell to searching our prayer-books for a capital 'Y'; and
Granny Tucker, who knew not A from B, made much ado in fumbling with her
book, for she would have people think that she could read. Then just at
that moment came a noise from below louder than those before, hollow and
grating like the cry of an old man in pain. With that up jumps Granny
Tucker, calling out loud in church to Mr. Glennie--
'O Master, however can'ee bide there preaching when the Moons be rising
from their graves?' and out from the church.
That was too much for the others, and all fled, Mrs. Vining crying,
'Lordsakes, we shall all be throttled like Cracky Jones.'
So in a minute there were none left in the church, save and except Mr.
Glennie, with me, Ratsey, and Elzevir Block. I did not run: first, not
wishing to show myself coward before the men; second, because I thought
if Blackbeard came he would fall on the men rather than on a boy; and
third, that if it came to blows, Block was strong enough to give account
even of a Mohune. Mr. Glennie went on with his sermon, making as though
he neither heard any noise nor saw the people leave the church; and when
he had finished, Elzevir walked out, but I stopped to see what the
minister would say to Ratsey about the noise in the vault. The sexton
helped Mr. Glennie off with his gown, and then seeing me standing by and
listening, said--
'The Lord has sent evil angels among us; 'tis a terrible thing, Master
Glennie, to hear the dead men moving under our feet.'
'Tut, tut,' answered the minister, 'it is only their own fears that make
such noises terrible to the vulgar. As for Blackbeard, I am not here to
say whether guilty spirits sometimes cannot rest and are seen wandering
by men; but for these noises, they are certainly Nature's work as is the
noise of waves upon the beach. The floods have filled the vault with
water, and so the coffins getting afloat, move in some eddies that we
know not of, and jostle one another. Then being hollow, they give forth
those sounds you hear, and these are your evil angels. 'Tis very true the
dead do move beneath our feet, but 'tis because they cannot help
themselves, being carried hither and thither by the water. Fie, Ratsey
man, you should know better than to fright a boy with silly talk of
spirits when the truth is bad enough.'
The parson's words had the ring of truth in them to me, and I never
doubted that he was right. So this mystery was explained, and yet it was
a dreadful thing, and made me shiver, to think of the Mohunes all adrift
in their coffins, and jostling one another in the dark. I pictured them
to myself, the many generations, old men and children, man and maid, all
bones now, each afloat in his little box of rotting wood; and Blackbeard
himself in a great coffin bigger than all the rest, coming crashing into
the weaker ones, as a ship in a heavy sea comes crashing down sometimes
in the trough, on a small boat that is trying to board her. And then
there was the outer darkness of the vault itself to think of, and the
close air, and the black putrid water nearly up to the roof on which such
sorry ships were sailing.
Ratsey looked a little crestfallen at what Mr. Glennie said, but put a
good face on it, and answered--
'Well, master, I am but a plain man, and know nothing about floods and
these eddies and hidden workings of Nature of which you speak; but,
saving your presence, I hold it a fond thing to make light of such
warnings as are given us. 'Tis always said, "When the Moons move, then
Moonfleet mourns"; and I have heard my father tell that the last time
they stirred was in Queen Anne's second year, when the great storm blew
men's homes about their heads. And as for frighting children, 'tis well
that heady boys should learn to stand in awe, and not pry into what does
not concern them--or they may come to harm.' He added the last words with
what I felt sure was a nod of warning to myself, though I did not then
understand what he meant. So he walked off in a huff with Elzevir, who
was waiting for him outside, and I went with Mr. Glennie and carried his
gown for him back to his lodging in the village.
Mr. Glennie was always very friendly, making much of me, and talking to
me as though I were his equal; which was due, I think, to there being no
one of his own knowledge in the neighbourhood, and so he had as lief talk
to an ignorant boy as to an ignorant man. After we had passed the
churchyard turnstile and were crossing the sludgy meadows, I asked him
again what he knew of Blackbeard and his lost treasure.
'My son,' he answered, 'all that I have been able to gather is, that this
Colonel John Mohune (foolishly called Blackbeard) was the first to impair
the family fortunes by his excesses, and even let the almshouses fall to
ruin, and turned the poor away. Unless report strangely belies him, he
was an evil man, and besides numberless lesser crimes, had on his hands
the blood of a faithful servant, whom he made away with because chance
had brought to the man's ears some guilty secret of the master. Then, at
the end of his life, being filled with fear and remorse (as must always
happen with evil livers at the last), he sent for Rector Kindersley of
Dorchester to confess him, though a Protestant, and wished to make amends
by leaving that treasure so ill-gotten from King Charles (which was all
that he had to leave) for the repair and support of the almshouses. He
made a last will, which I have seen, to this effect, but without
describing the treasure further than to call it a diamond, nor saying
where it was to be found. Doubtless he meant to get it himself, sell it,
and afterwards apply the profit to his good purpose, but before he could
do so death called him suddenly to his account. So men say that he cannot
rest in his grave, not having made even so tardy a reparation, and never
will rest unless the treasure is found and spent upon the poor.'
I thought much over what Mr. Glennie had said and fell to wondering where
Blackbeard could have hid his diamond, and whether I might not find it
some day and make myself a rich man. Now, as I considered that noise we
had heard under the church, and Parson Glennie's explanation of it, I was
more and more perplexed; for the noise had, as I have said, something
deep and hollow-booming in it, and how was that to be made by decayed
coffins. I had more than once seen Ratsey, in digging a grave, turn up
pieces of coffins, and sometimes a tarnished name-plate would show that
they had not been so very long underground, and yet the wood was quite
decayed and rotten. And granting that such were in the earth, and so
might more easily perish, yet when the top was taken off old Guy's brick
grave to put his widow beside him, Master Ratsey gave me a peep in, and
old Guy's coffin had cracks and warps in it, and looked as if a sound
blow would send it to pieces. Yet here were the Mohune coffins that had
been put away for generations, and must be rotten as tinder, tapping
against each other with a sound like a drum, as if they were still sound
and air-tight. Still, Mr. Glennie must be right; for if it was not the
coffins, what should it be that made the noise?
So on the next day after we heard the sounds in church, being the
Monday, as soon as morning school was over, off I ran down street and
across meadows to the churchyard, meaning to listen outside the church
if the Mohunes were still moving. I say outside the church, for I knew
Ratsey would not lend me the key to go in after what he had said about
boys prying into things that did not concern them; and besides that, I
do not know that I should care to have ventured inside alone, even if I
had the key.
When I reached the church, not a little out of breath, I listened first
on the side nearest the village, that is the north side; putting my ear
against the wall, and afterwards lying down on the ground, though the
grass was long and wet, so that I might the better catch any sound that
came. But I could hear nothing, and so concluded that the Mohunes had
come to rest again, yet thought I would walk round the church and listen
too on the south or sea side, for that their worships might have drifted
over to that side, and be there rubbing shoulders with one another. So I
went round, and was glad to get out of the cold shade into the sun on the
south. But here was a surprise; for when I came round a great buttress
which juts out from the wall, what should I see but two men, and these
two were Ratsey and Elzevir Block. I came upon them unawares, and, lo and
behold, there was Master Ratsey lying also on the ground with his ear to
the wall, while Elzevir sat back against the inside of the buttress with
a spy-glass in his hand, smoking and looking out to sea.
Now, I had as much right to be in the churchyard as Ratsey or Elzevir,
and yet I felt a sudden shame as if I had been caught in some bad act,
and knew the blood was running to my cheeks. At first I had it in my mind
to turn tail and make off, but concluded to stand my ground since they
had seen me, and so bade them 'Good morning'. Master Ratsey jumped to his
feet as nimbly as a cat; and if he had not been a man, I should have
thought he was blushing too, for his face was very red, though that came
perhaps from lying on the ground. I could see he was a little put about,
and out of countenance, though he tried to say 'Good morning, John', in
an easy tone, as if it was a common thing for him to be lying in the
churchyard, with his ear to the wall, on a winter's morning. 'Good
morning, John,' he said; 'and what might you be doing in the churchyard
this fine day?'
I answered that I was come to listen if the Mohunes were still moving.
'Well, that I can't tell you,' returned Ratsey, 'not wishing to waste
thought on such idle matters, and having to examine this wall whether
the floods have not so damaged it as to need under-pinning; so if you
have time to gad about of a morning, get you back to my workshop and
fetch me a plasterer's hammer which I have left behind, so that I can
try this mortar.'
I knew that he was making excuses about underpinning, for the wall was
sound as a rock, but was glad enough to take him at his word and beat a
retreat from where I was not wanted. Indeed, I soon saw how he was
mocking me, for the men did not even wait for me to come back with the
hammer, but I met them returning in the first meadow. Master Ratsey made
another excuse that he did not need the hammer now, as he had found out
that all that was wanted was a little pointing with new mortar. 'But if
you have such time to waste, John,' he added, 'you can come tomorrow and
help me to get new thwarts in the _Petrel_, which she badly wants.'
So we three came back to the village together; but looking up at Elzevir
once while Master Ratsey was making these pretences, I saw his eyes
twinkle under their heavy brows, as if he was amused at the other's
embarrassment.
The next Sunday, when we went to church, all was quiet as usual,
there was no Elzevir, and no more noises, and I never heard the
Mohunes move again.