FINDS A HOME OF SOME SORT.
However, it was high time now, if we had any hope at all of getting into
Sker-house that night, to be up and moving. For though Evan Thomas might
be late, Moxy, his wife, would be early; and the door would open to none
but the master after the boys were gone to bed. For the house is very
lonely; and people no longer innocent as they used to be in that
neighbourhood.
I found the child quite warm and nice, though overwhelmed with weight of
sleep; and setting her crosswise on my shoulders, whence she slid down
into my bosom, over the rocks I picked my way, by the light of the full
clear moon, towards the old Sker-Grange, which stands a little back
from the ridge of beach, and on the edge of the sandhills.
This always was, and always must be, a very sad and lonesome place,
close to a desolate waste of sand, and the continual roaring of the sea
upon black rocks. A great grey house, with many chimneys, many gables,
and many windows, yet not a neighbour to look out on, not a tree to feed
its chimneys, scarce a firelight in its gables in the very depth of
winter. Of course, it is said to be haunted; and though I believe not
altogether in any stories of that kind--despite some very strange things
indeed which I have beheld at sea--at any rate, I would rather not hear
any yarns on that matter just before bedtime in that house; and most
people would agree with me, unless I am much mistaken.
For the whole neighbourhood--if so you may call it, where there are no
neighbours--is a very queer one--stormy, wild, and desolate, with little
more than rocks and sand and sea to make one's choice among. As to the
sea, not only dull, and void it is of any haven, or of proper traffic,
but as dangerous as need be, even in good weather, being full of
draughts and currents, with a tide like a mill-race, suffering also the
ups and downs which must be where the Atlantic Ocean jostles with blind
narrowings: it offers, moreover, a special peril (a treacherous and a
shifty one) in the shape of some horrible quicksands, known as the
"Sker-Weathers:" these at the will of storm and current change about
from place to place, but are, for the most part, some two miles from
shore, and from two to four miles long, according to circumstances;
sometimes almost bare at half-tide, and sometimes covered at low water.
If any ship falls into them, the bravest skipper that ever stood upon a
quarter-deck can do no more than pipe to prayers, though one or two
craft have escaped when the tide was rising rapidly.
As for the shore, it is no better (when once you get beyond the rocks)
than a stretch of sandhills, with a breadth of flaggy marsh behind them
all the way to the mouth of Neath river, some three leagues to the
westward. Eastward, the scene is fairer inland, but the coast itself
more rugged and steep, and scarcely more inhabited, having no house
nearer than Rhwychyns, which is only a small farm, nearly two miles from
Sker-Grange, and a mile from any other house. And if you strike inland
from Sker--that is to say, to the northward--there is nothing to see but
sand, warren, and furze, and great fields marked with rubble, even as
far as Kenfig.
Looking at that vast lonely house, there were two things I never could
make out. The first was, who could ever have been mad enough to build it
there?--for it must have cost a mint of money, being all of quarried and
carried stone, and with no rich farm to require it. And the second thing
was still worse a puzzle: how could any one ever live there?
As to the first point, the story is, that the house was built by abbots
of Neath, when owners of Sker-manor, adding to it, very likely, as they
followed one another; and then it was used as their manor-court, and for
purposes more important, as a place of refection, being near good
fisheries, and especially Kenfig Pool, stocked with all fresh-water
fish, and every kind of wild-fowl.
But upon the other question all that I can say is this: I have knocked
about the world a good bit, and have suffered many trials, by the which
I am, no doubt, chastened and highly rectified; nevertheless, I would
rather end my life among the tomb-stones, if only allowed three
farthings' worth of tobacco every day, than live with all those abbots'
luxuries in that old grey house.
However, there were no abbots now, nor any sort of luxury, only a rough
unpleasant farmer, a kind but slovenly wife of his, and five great lads,
notorious for pleasing no one except themselves; also a boy of a
different order, as you soon shall see.
Thinking of all this, I looked with tenderness at the little dear,
fallen back so fast asleep, innocent, and trustful, with her head upon
my shoulder, and her breathing in my beard. Turning away at view of the
house, I brought the moonlight on her face, and this appeared so pure,
and calm, and fit for better company, that a pain went to my heart, as
in Welsh we speak of it.
Because she was so fast asleep, and that alone is something holy in a
very little child; so much it seems to be the shadow of the death
itself, in their pausing fluttering lives, in their want of wit for
dreaming, and their fitness for a world of which they must know more
than this; also to a man who feels the loss of much believing, and what
grievous gain it is to make doubt of everything, such a simple trust in
Him, than whom we find no better father, such a confidence of safety at
the very outset seems a happy art unknown, and tempts him back to
ignorance. Well aware what years must bring, from all the ill they have
brought to us, we cannot watch this simple sort without a sadness on our
side, a pity, and a longing, as for something lost and gone.
In the scoop between two sandhills such a power of moonlight fell upon
the face of this baby, that it only wanted the accident of her lifting
bright eyes to me to make me cast away all prudence, and even the dread
of Bunny. But a man at my time of life must really look to the main
chance first, and scout all romantic visions; and another face means
another mouth, however pretty it may be. Moreover, I had no wife now,
nor woman to look after us; and what can even a man-child do, without
their apparatus? While on the other hand I knew that (however dreary
Sker might be) there was one motherly heart inside it. Therefore it came
to pass that soon the shadow of that dark house fell upon the little one
in my arms, while with a rotten piece of timber, which was lying handy,
I thumped and thumped at the old oak door, but nobody came to answer me;
nobody even seemed to hear, though every knock went further and further
into the emptiness of the place.
But just as I had made up my mind to lift the latch, and to walk in
freely, as I would have done in most other houses, but stood upon
scruple with Evan Thomas, I heard a slow step in the distance, and Moxy
Thomas appeared at last--a kindly-hearted and pleasant woman, but apt to
be low-spirited (as was natural for Evan's wife), and not very much of a
manager. And yet it seems hard to blame her there, when I come to think
of it, for most of the women are but so, round about our
neighbourhood--sanding up of room and passage, and forming patterns on
the floor every other Saturday, and yet the roof all frayed with
cobwebs, and the corners such as, in the navy, we should have been
rope-ended for.
By means of nature, Moxy was shaped for a thoroughly good and lively
woman; and such no doubt she would have been, if she had had the luck to
marry me, as at one time was our signification. God, however, ordered
things in a different manner, and no doubt He was considering what might
be most for my benefit. Nevertheless, in the ancient days, when I was a
fine young tar on leave, and all Sunday-school set caps at me (perhaps I
was two-and-twenty then), the only girl I would allow to sit on the
crossing of my legs, upon a well-dusted tombstone, and suck the things I
carried for them (all being fond of peppermint), was this little Moxy
Stradling, of good Newton family, and twelve years old at that time. She
made me swear on the blade of my knife never to have any one but her;
and really I looked forward to it as almost beyond a joke; and her
father had some money.
"Who's there at this time of night?" cried Moxy Thomas, sharply, and in
Welsh of course, although she had some English; "pull the latch, if you
be honest. Evan Black is in the house."
By the tone of her voice I knew that this last was a fib of fright, and
glad I was to know it so. Much the better chance was left me of
disposing Bardie somewhere, where she might be comfortable.
Soon as Mrs Thomas saw us by the light of a home-made dip, she scarcely
stopped to stare before she wanted the child out of my arms, and was
ready to devour it, guessing that it came from sea, and talking all the
while, full gallop, as women find the way to do. I was expecting fifty
questions, and, no doubt, she asked them, yet seemed to answer them all
herself, and be vexed with me for talking, yet to want me to go on.
"Moxy, now be quick," I said; "this little thing from out the sea----"
"Quick is it? Quick indeed! Much quick you are, old Dyo!" she replied in
English. "The darling dear, the pretty love!" for the child had spread
its hands to her, being taken with a woman's dress. "Give her to me,
clumsy Davy. Is it that way you do carry her?"
"Old Davy tarry me aye nicely, I tell 'a. Old Davy good and kind; and I
'ont have him called kumsy."
So spake up my two-year-old, astonishing me (as she always has done) by
her wonderful cleverness, and surprising Moxy Thomas that such clear
good words should come from so small a creature.
"My goodness me! you little vixen! wherever did you come from? Bring her
in yourself, then, Dyo, if she thinks so much of you. Let me feel her.
Not wet she is. Where-ever did you get her? Put her on this little
stool, and let her warm them mites of feet till I go for bread and
butter."
Although the weather was so hot, a fire of coal and driftwood was
burning in the great chimney-place, for cooking of black Evan's supper;
because he was an outrageous man to eat, whenever he was drunk, which
(as a doctor told me once) shows the finest of all constitutions.
But truly there was nothing else of life, or cheer, or comfort, in the
great sad stony room. A floor of stone, six gloomy doorways, and a
black-beamed ceiling--no wonder that my little darling cowered back into
my arms, and put both hands before her eyes.
"No, no, no!" she said. "Bardie doesn't 'ike it. When mama come, she be
very angy with 'a, old Davy."
I felt myself bound to do exactly as Mrs Thomas ordered me, and so I
carried Miss Finical to the three-legged stool of firwood which had been
pointed out to me; and having a crick in my back for a moment after
bearing her so far, down I set her upon her own legs, which, although so
neat and pretty, were uncommonly steadfast. To my astonishment, off she
started (before I could fetch myself to think) over the rough stone
flags of the hall, trotting on her toes entirely, for the very life of
her. Before I could guess what she was up to, she had pounced upon an
old kitchen-towel, newly washed, but full of splinters, hanging on a
three-legged horse, and back she ran in triumph with it--for none could
say that she toddled--and with a want of breath, and yet a vigour that
made up for it, began to rub with all her power, as well as a highly
skilful turn, the top of that blessed three-legged stool, and some way
down the sides of it.
"What's the matter, my dear?" I asked, almost losing my mind at this,
after all her other wonders.
"Dirt," she replied; "degustin' dirt!" never stopping to look up at me.
"What odds for a little dirt, when a little soul is hungry?"
"Bardie a boofley kean gal, and this 'tool degustin' cochong!" was all
the reply she vouchsafed me; but I saw that she thought less of me.
However, I was glad enough that Moxy did not hear her, for Mrs Thomas
had no unreasonable ill-will towards dirt, but rather liked it in its
place; and with her its place was everywhere. But I, being used to see
every cranny searched and scoured with holy-stone, blest, moreover, when
ashore, with a wife like Amphitrite (who used to come aboard of us),
could thoroughly enter into the cleanliness of this Bardie, and thought
more of her accordingly.
While this little trot was working, in the purest ignorance of father
and of mother, yet perhaps in her tiny mind hoping to have pleased them
both, back came Mrs Thomas, bringing all the best she had of comfort and
of cheer for us, although not much to speak of.
I took a little hollands hot, on purpose to oblige her, because she had
no rum; and the little baby had some milk and rabbit-gravy, being set up
in a blanket, and made the most we could make of her. And she ate a
truly beautiful supper, sitting gravely on the stool, and putting both
hands to her mouth in fear of losing anything. All the boys were gone
to bed after a long day's rabbiting, and Evan Black still on the spree;
so that I was very pleasant (knowing my boat to be quite safe) toward my
ancient sweetheart. And we got upon the old times so much, in a
pleasing, innocent, teasing way, that but for fear of that vile black
Evan we might have forgotten poor Bardie.