MARY LYTH
Conquests, triumphs, and slaughterous glory are not very nice till they
have ceased to drip. After that extinction of the war upon the waves,
the nation which had won the fight went into general mourning. Sorrow,
as deep as a maiden's is at the death of her lover, spread over the
land; and people who had married their romance away, and fathered off
their enthusiasm, abandoned themselves to even deeper anguish at the
insecurity of property. So deeply had England's faith been anchored
into the tenacity of Nelson. The fall of the funds when the victory was
announced outspoke a thousand monuments.
From sires and grandsires Englishmen have learned the mood into which
their country fell. To have fought under Nelson in his last fight was a
password to the right hands of men, and into the hearts of women. Even
a man who had never been known to change his mind began to condemn
other people for being obstinate. Farmer Anerley went to church in his
Fencible accoutrements, with a sash of heavy crape, upon the first day
of the Christian year. To prove the largeness of his mind, he harnessed
the white-nosed horse, and drove his family away from his own parish, to
St. Oswald's Church at Flamborough, where Dr. Upround was to preach upon
the death of Nelson. This sermon was of the noblest order, eloquent,
spirited, theological, and yet so thoroughly practical, that seven
Flamborough boys set off on Monday to destroy French ships of war. Mary
did her very utmost not to cry--for she wanted so particularly to watch
her father--but nature and the doctor were too many for her. And when he
came to speak of the distinguished part played (under Providence) by a
gallant son of Flamborough, who, after enduring with manly silence evil
report and unprecious balms, stood forward in the breach, like Phineas,
and, with the sword of Gideon, defied Philistia to enter the British
ark; and when he went on to say that but for Flamborough's prowess on
that day, and the valor of the adjoining parish (which had also supplied
a hero), England might be mourning her foremost _promachos_, her very
greatest fighter in the van, without the consolation of burying him, and
embalming him in a nation's tears--for the French might have fired
the magazine--and when he proceeded to ask who it was that (under the
guiding of a gracious hand) had shattered the devices of the enemy, up
stood Robin Cockscroft, with a score of equally ancient captains,
and remembering where they were, touched their forelocks, and
answered--“Robin Lyth, sir!”
Then Mary permitted the pride of her heart, which had long been painful
with the tight control, to escape in a sob, which her mother had
foreseen; and pulling out the stopper from her smelling-bottle, Mistress
Anerley looked at her husband as if he were Bonaparte himself.
He, though aware that it was inconsistent of her, felt (as he said
afterward) as if he had been a Frenchman; and looked for his hat, and
fumbled about for the button of the pew, to get out of it. But luckily
the clerk, with great presence of mind, awoke, and believing the sermon
to be over, from the number of men who were standing up, pronounced
“Amen” decisively.
During the whole of the homeward drive Farmer Anerley's countenance was
full of thought; but he knew that it was watched, and he did not choose
to let people get in front of him with his own brains. Therefore he let
his wife and daughter look at him, to their hearts' content, while he
looked at the ledges, and the mud, and the ears of his horse, and the
weather; and he only made two observations of moment, one of which was
“gee!” and the other was “whoa!”
With females jolting up and down, upon no springs--except those of
jerksome curiosity--conduct of this character was rude in the extreme.
But knowing what he was, they glanced at one another, not meaning in any
sort of way to blame him, but only that he would be better by-and-by,
and perhaps try to make amends handsomely. And this, beyond any denial,
he did as soon as he had dined, and smoked his pipe on the butt of the
tree by the rick-yard. Nobody knew where he kept his money, or at least
his good wife always said so, when any one made bold to ask her. And
even now he was right down careful to go to his pot without anybody
watching; so that when he came into the Sunday parlor there was not one
of them who could say, even at a guess, where he last had been.
Master Simon Popplewell, gentleman-tanner (called out of his name, and
into the name of “Johnny,” even by his own wife, because there was no
sign of any Simon in him), he was there, and his good wife Debby, and
Mistress Anerley in her best cap, and Mary, dressed in royal navy blue,
with bars of black (for Lord Nelson's sake), according to the kind gift
of aunt and uncle; also Willie, looking wonderfully handsome, though
pale with the failure of “perpetual motion,” and inclined to be languid,
as great genius should be in its intervals of activity. Among them a
lively talk was stirring; and the farmer said, “Ah! You was talking
about me.”
“We mought be; and yet again we mought not,” Master Popplewell returned,
with a glance at Mrs. Deborah, who had just been describing to the
company how much her husband excelled in jokesomeness. “Brother Stephen,
a good man seeks to be spoken of, and a bad one objects to it, in vain.”
“Very well. You shall have something for your money. Mary, you know
where the old Mydeary wine is that come from your godfathers and
godmothers when you was called in baptism. Take you the key from your
mother, child, and bring you up a bottle, and brother Popplewell will
open it, for such things is beyond me.”
“Well done, our side!” exclaimed the tanner; for if he had a weakness it
was for Madeira, which he always declared to have a musky smack of tan;
and a waggish customer had told him once that the grapes it was made
of were always tanned first. The others kept silence, foreseeing great
events.
Then Mr. Popplewell, poised with calm discretion, and moving with the
nice precision of a fine watchmaker, shed into the best decanter (softly
as an angel's tears) liquid beauty, not too gaudy, not too sparkling
with shallow light, not too ruddy with sullen glow, but vivid--like a
noble gem, a brown cairngorm--with mellow depth of lustre. “That's your
sort!” the tanner cried, after putting his tongue, while his wife looked
shocked, to the lip of the empty bottle.
“Such things is beyond my knowledge,” answered Farmer Anerley, as soon
as he saw the best glasses filled; “but nothing in nature is too good to
speak a good man's health in. Now fill you up a little glass for Mary;
and, Perpetual Motion, you stand up, which is more than your machines
can do. Now here I stand, and I drink good health to a man as I never
clapped eyes on yet, and would have preferred to keep the door between
us; but the Lord hath ordered otherwise. He hath wiped out all his
faults against the law; he hath fought for the honor of old England
well; and he hath saved the life of my son Jack. Spite of all that, I
might refuse to unspeak my words, which I never did afore, if it had not
been that I wronged the man. I have wronged the young fellow, and I am
man enough to say so. I called him a murderer and a sneak, and time hath
proved me to have been a liar. Therefore I ask his pardon humbly; and,
what will be more to his liking, perhaps, I say that he shall have my
daughter Mary, if she abides agreeable. And I put down these here twenty
guineas, for Mary to look as she ought to look. She hath been a good
lass, and hath borne with me better than one in a thousand would have
done. Mary, my love to you; and with leave all round, here's the very
good health of Robin Lyth!”
“Here's the health of Robin Lyth!” shouted Mr. Popplewell, with his fat
cheeks shining merrily. “Hurrah for the lad who saved Nelson's death
from a Frenchman's grins, and saved our Jack boy! Stephen Anerley, I
forgive you. This is the right stuff, and no mistake. Deborah, come and
kiss the farmer.”
Mrs. Popplewell obeyed her husband, as the manner of good wives is. And
over and above this fleeting joy, solid satisfaction entered into noble
hearts, which felt that now the fruit of laborious years, and the cash
of many a tanning season, should never depart from the family. And to
make an end of any weak misgivings, even before the ladies went--to fill
the pipes for the gentlemen--the tanner drew with equal care, and
even better nerve, the second bottle's cork, and expressed himself as
follows:
“Brother Steve hath done the right thing. We hardly expected it of
him, by rights of his confounded stubbornness. But when a shut-up man
repenteth, he is equal to a hoyster, or this here bottle. What good
would this 'a been without it was sealed over? Now mark my words. I'll
not be behind no man when it comes to the right side up. I may be a
poor man, a very poor man; and people counting otherwise might find
themselves mistaken. I likes to be liked for myself only. But the day
our Mary goes to church with Robin Lyth she shall have 500 pounds tied
upon her back, or else my name's not Popplewell.”
Mary had left the room long ago, after giving her father a gentle kiss,
and whispering to Willie that he should have half of her twenty guineas
for inventing things; which is a most expensive process, and should be
more highly encouraged. Therefore she could not express at the moment
her gratitude to Squire Popplewell; but as soon as she heard of his
generosity, it lifted a great weight off her mind, and enabled her to
think about furnishing a cottage. But she never told even her mother of
that. Perhaps Robin might have seen some one he liked better. Perhaps he
might have heard that stupid story about her having taken up with poor
Harry Tanfield; and that might have driven him to wed a foreign lady,
and therefore to fight so desperately. None, however, of these perhapses
went very deeply into her heart, which was equally trusting and trusty.
Now some of her confidence in the future was justified that very moment
almost, by a sudden and great arrival, not of Jack Anerley and Robin
Lyth (who were known to be coming home together), but of a gentleman
whose skill and activity deserved all thanks for every good thing that
had happened.
“Well! I am in the very nick of time. It is my nature,” cried Mr.
Mordacks, seated in the best chair by the fire. “Why? you inquire, with
your native penetration. Simply because in very early days I acquired
the habit of punctuality. This holding good where an appointment is,
holds good afterward, from the force of habit, in matters that are of
luck alone. The needle-eye of time gets accustomed to be hit, and
turns itself up, without waiting for the clew. Wonderful Madeira! Well,
Captain Anerley, no wonder that you have discouraged free trade with
your cellars full of this! It is twenty years since I have tasted such
wine. Mistress Anerley, I have the honor of quaffing this glass to
your very best health, and that of a very charming young lady, who has
hitherto failed to appreciate me.”
“Then, sir, I am here to beg your pardon,” said Mary, coming up, with
a beautiful blush. “When I saw you first I did not enter into
your--your--”
“My outspoken manner and short business style. But I hope that you have
come to like me better. All good persons do, when they come to know me.”
“Yes, sir; I was quite ashamed of myself, when I came to learn all that
you have done for somebody, and your wonderful kindness at Bridlington.”
“Famously said! You inherit from your mother the power and the charm of
expression. And now, my dear lady, good Mistress Anerley, I shall undo
all my great merits by showing that I am like the letter-writers, who
never write until they have need of something. Captain Anerley, it
concerns you also, as a military man, and loyal soldier of King George.
A gallant young officer (highly distinguished in his own way, and very
likely to get on, in virtue of high connection) became of age some few
weeks back; and being the heir to large estates, determined to entail
them. I speak as in a parable. My meaning is one which the ladies will
gracefully enter into. Being a large heir, he is not selfish, but would
fain share his blessings with a little one. In a word, he is to marry a
very beautiful young lady to-morrow, and under my agency. But he has
a very delightful mother, and an aunt of a lofty and commanding mind,
whose views, however, are comparatively narrow. For a hasty, brief
season, they will be wroth; and it would be unjust to be angry with
them. But love's indignation is soon cured by absence, and tones down
rapidly into desire to know how the sinner is getting on. In the present
case, a fortnight will do the business; or if for a month, so much the
better. Heroes are in demand just now; and this young gentleman took
such a scare in his very first fight that he became a hero, and so has
behaved himself ever since. Ladies, I am astonished at your goodness in
not interrupting me. Your minds must be as practical as my own. Now this
lovely young pair, being married to-morrow, will have to go hunting for
the honey in the moon, to which such enterprises lead.”
“Sir, you are very right,” Squire Popplewell replied; and, “That is
Bible truth,” said the farmer.
“Our minds are enlarged by experience,” resumed the genial factor,
pleasantly, and bowing to the ladies, who declined to say a word until
a better opportunity, “and we like to see the process going on with
others. But a nest must be found for these young doves--a quiet one, a
simple one, a place where they may learn to put up with one another's
cookery. The secret of happiness in this world is not to be too
particular. I have hit upon the very place to make them thankful
by-and-by, when they come to look back upon it--a sweet little hole,
half a league away from anybody. All is arranged--a frying-pan, a
brown-ware tea-pot, a skin of lard, a cock and a hen, to lay some eggs;
a hundredweight of ship biscuits, warranted free from weevil, and a
knife and fork. Also a way to the sea, and a net, for them to
fish together. Nothing more delightful can be imagined. Under such
circumstances, they will settle, in three days, which is to be
the master--which I take to be the most important of all marriage
settlements. And, unless I am very much mistaken, it will be the right
one--the lady. My little heroine, Jerry Carroway, is engaged as their
factotum, and every auspice is favorable. But without your consent, all
is knocked on the head; for the cottage is yours, and the tenant won't
go out, even under temptation of five guineas, without your written
order. Mistress Anerley, I appeal to you. Captain, say nothing. This is
a lady's question.”
“Then I like to have a little voice sometimes, though it is not often
that I get it. And, Mr. Mordacks, I say 'Yes.' And out of the five
guineas we shall get our rent, or some of it, perhaps, from Poacher Tim,
who owes us nigh upon two years now.”
The farmer smiled at his wife's good thrift, and, being in a pleasant
mood, consented, if so be the law could not be brought against him, and
if the young couple would not stop too long, or have any family to
fall upon the rates. The factor assured him against all evils; and then
created quite a brisk sensation by telling them, in strict confidence,
that the young officer was one Lancelot Yordas, own first cousin to the
famous Robin Lyth, and nephew to Sir Duncan Yordas. And the lady was the
daughter of Sir Duncan's oldest friend, the very one whose name he had
given to his son. Wonder never ceased among them, when they thought how
things came round.
Things came round not only thus, but also even better afterward.
Mordacks had a very beautiful revenge of laughter at old Jellicorse, by
outstripping him vastly in the family affairs. But Mr. Jellicorse did
not care, so long as he still had eleven boxes left of title-deeds to
Scargate Hall, no liability about the twelfth, and a very fair prospect
of a lawsuit yet for the multiplication of the legal race. And meeting
Mr. Mordacks in the highest legal circles, at Proctor Brigant's, in
Crypt Court, York, he acknowledged that he never met a more delightful
gentleman, until he found out what his name was. And even then he
offered him a pinch of snuff, and they shook hands very warmly without
anything to pay.
When Robin Lyth came home he was dissatisfied at first--so difficult is
mankind to please--because his good luck had been too good. No scratch
of steel, no permanent scorch of powder, was upon him, and England was
not in the mood to value any unwounded valor. But even here his good
luck stood him in strong stead, and cured his wrong. For when the body
of the lamented hero arrived at Spithead, in spirits of wine, early in
December, it was found that the Admiralty had failed to send down any
orders about it. Reports, however, were current of some intention that
the hero should lie in state, and the battered ship went on with him.
And when at last proper care was shown, and the relics of one of the
noblest men that ever lived upon the tide of time were being transferred
to a yacht at the Nore, Robin Lyth, in a sad and angry mood, neglected
to give a wide berth to a gun that was helping to keep up the mourning
salute, and a piece of wad carried off his starboard whisker.
This at once replaced him in the popular esteem, and enabled him to
land upon the Yorkshire coast with a certainty of glorious welcome. Mr.
Mordacks himself came down to meet him at the Northern Landing, with Dr.
Upround and Robin Cockscroft, and nearly all the men, and entirely
all the women and children, of Little Denmark. Strangers also from
outlandish parts, Squire Popplewell and his wife Deborah, Mrs. Carroway
(with her Tom, and Jerry, and Cissy, and lesser Carroways, for her old
aunt Jane was gone to Paradise at last, and had left her enough to keep
a pony-carriage), and a great many others, and especially a group of
four distinguished persons, who stood at the top of the slide, because
of the trouble of getting back if they went down.
These had a fair and double-horsed carriage in the lane, at the spot
where fish face their last tribunal; and scarcely any brains but those
of Flamborough could have absorbed such a spectacle as this, together
with the deeper expectations from the sea. Of these four persons, two
were young enough, and two not so young as they had been, but still very
lively, and well pleased with one another. These were Mrs. Carnaby and
Mr. Bart; the pet of the one had united his lot with the darling of the
other; for good or for bad, there was no getting out of it, and the only
thing was to make the best of it. And being good people, they were doing
this successfully. Poor Mrs. Carnaby had said to Mr. Bart, as soon as
Mr. Mordacks let her know about the wedding, “Oh, but, Mr. Bart, you
are a gentleman; now, are you not? I am sure you are, though you do such
things! I am sure of it by your countenance.”
“Madam,” Mr. Bart replied, with a bow that was decisive, “if I am not,
it is my own fault, as it is the fault of every man.”
At this present moment they were standing with their children, Lancelot
and Insie, who had nicely recovered from matrimony, and began to be too
high-spirited. They all knew, by virtue of Mr. Mordacks, who Robin Lyth
was; and they wanted to see him, and be kind to him, if he made no claim
upon them. And Mr. Bart desired, as his father's friend, to shake hands
with him, and help him, if help were needed.
But Robin, with a grace and elegance which he must have imported from
foreign parts, declined all connection and acquaintance with them,
and declared his set resolve to have nothing to do with the name of
“Yordas.” They were grieved, as they honestly declared, to hear it, but
could not help owning that his pride was just; and they felt that their
name was the richer for not having any poor people to share it.
Yet Captain Lyth--as he now was called, even by revenue officers--in no
way impoverished his name by taking another to share it with him. The
farmer declared that there should be no wedding until he had sold
seven stacks of wheat, for his meaning was to do things well. But this
obstacle did not last long, for those were times when corn was golden,
not in landscape only.
So when the spring was fair with promise of green for the earth, and
of blue for heaven, and of silver-gray upon the sea, the little church
close to Anerley Farm filled up all the complement of colors. There
was scarlet, of Dr. Upround's hood (brought by the Precious boy from
Flamborough); a rich plum-color in the coat of Mordacks; delicate rose
and virgin white in the blush and the brow of Mary; every tint of the
rainbow on her mother's part; and gold, rich gold, in a great tanned
bag, on behalf of Squire Popplewell. His idea of a “settlement” was cash
down, and he put it on the parish register.
Mary found no cause to repent of the long endurance of her truth, and
the steadfast power of quiet love. Robin was often in the distance
still, far beyond the silvery streak of England's new salvation. But
Mary prayed for his safe return; and safe he was, by the will of the
Lord, which helps the man who helps himself, and has made his hand
bigger than his tongue. When the war was over, Captain Lyth came home,
and trained his children in the ways in which he should have walked, and
the duties they should do and pay.
THE END.