IN ACCORDANCE WITH THE EVIDENCE.
There is no need for me to follow all the Crowner's doings, or all that
the juries thought and said, which was different altogether from what
they meant to think and say. And he found himself bound to have two of
them, with first right of inquest to the baby because of the stamp on
his pinafore. And here I was, foreman of the jury, with fifteenpence for
my services, and would gladly have served on the other jury after
walking all that way, but was disabled for doing so, and only got
ninepence for testimony. With that, however, I need not meddle, as every
one knows all about it; only, to make clear all that happened, and,
indeed, to clear myself, I am forced to put before you all that we did
about that baby, as fully and emphatically as the state of our doings
upon that occasion permitted me to remember it.
For the Coroner sate at the head of the table, in the great parlour of
the house; and the dead child came in on his board, and we all regarded
him carefully, especially heeding his coronet mark, and then set him by
the window. A fine young boy enough to look at, about the age of our
Bardie, and might have been her twin-brother, as everybody vowed he was,
only his face was bolder and stronger, and his nose quite different,
and altogether a brave young chap, instead of funny and delicate. All
this, however, might well have come from knocking about in the sea so
much.
I would have given a good half-crown to have bitten off my foolish
tongue, when one of the jurymen stood up and began to address the
Coroner. He spoke, unluckily, very good English, and his Honour was glad
to pay heed to him. And the clerk put down nearly all he said, word for
word, as might be. This meddlesome fellow (being no less than brother
Hezekiah's self) nodded to me for leave to speak, which I could not deny
him; and his Honour lost no time whatever to put his mouth into his
rummer of punch, as now provided for all of us, and to bow (whenever his
mouth was empty) to that Hezekiah. For the man had won some reputation,
or rather had made it, for himself, by perpetual talking, as if he were
skilled in the history and antiquities of the neighbourhood. Of these he
made so rare a patchwork, heads and tails, prose, verse, and proverbs,
histories, and his stories, that (as I heard from a man of real teaching
and learning who met him once and kept out of his way ever after) any
one trusting him might sit down in the chair of Canute at King Arthur's
table. Not that I or any of my neighbours would be the worse for doing
that; only the thought of it frightened us, and made us unwilling to
hearken him much.
However, if there was any matter on which Hezekiah deserved to be heard,
no doubt it was this upon which he was now delivering his opinions--to
wit, the great inroad or invasion of the sand, for miles along our
coast; of which there are very strange things to tell, and of which he
had made an especial study, having a field at Candleston with a shed
upon it and a rick of hay, all which disappeared in a single night, and
none was ever seen afterwards. It was the only field he had, being left
to him by his grandmother; and many people were disappointed that he had
not slept with his cow that night. This directed his attention to the
serious consideration, as he always told us at first start, being a
lover of three-decked words, of the most important contemplation which
could occupy the attention of any Cambrian landowner.
"Show your land," cried a wag of a tailor, with none to cross his legs
upon; but we put him down, and pegged him down, till his manners should
be of the pattern-book. Hezekiah went on to tell, in words too long to
answer the helm of such a plain sailor as I am, how the sweep of
hundreds of miles of sand had come up from the west and south-west in
only two hundred and fifty years. How it had first begun to flow about
the Scilly Islands, as mentioned by one Borlase, and came to the mouth
of Hayle river, in Cornwall, in the early years of King Henry VIII., and
after that blocked up Bude Haven, and swallowed the ploughs in the
arable land. Then at Llanant it came like a cloud over the moon one
winter night, and buried five-and-thirty houses with the people in them.
An Act of Parliament was passed--chapter the second of Philip and
Mary--to keep it out of Glamorganshire; and good commissioners were
appointed, and a survey made along the coast, especially of Kenfig.
Nevertheless the dash of sand was scarcely on their ink, when swarming,
driving, darkening the air, the storm swept on their survey. At the
mouths of the Tawey and Afan rivers the two sailors' chapels were
buried, and then it swept up the great Roman road, a branch of the
Julian way, and smothered the pillars of Gordian, and swallowed the
castle of Kenfig, which stood by the side of the western road; and still
rushing eastward, took Newton village and Newton old church beneath it.
And so it went on for two hundred years, coming up from the sea, no
doubt, carried by the perpetual gales, which always are from the south
and west--filling all the hollow places, changing all bright mossy pools
into hills of yellow drought, and, like a great encampment, dwelling
over miles and leagues of land. And like a camp it was in this, that it
was always striking tent. Six times in the last few years had the
highest peak of sand--the general's tent it might be called--been
shifted miles away, perhaps, and then come back towards Ogmore; and it
was only the other day that, through some shift or swirl of wind, a
windmill, with its sails entire, had been laid bare near Candleston, of
which the last record was in Court-rolls of a hundred and fifty years
agone.[A]
Now all this, though Hezekiah said it, was true enough, I do believe,
having heard things much to the same purpose from my own old
grandfather. The Coroner listened with more patience than we had given
him credit for, although he told us that brother Perkins should have
reserved his learned speech for the second inquiry, which was to be
about the deaths of the five young men; for to him it appeared that
this noble infant must lay the blame of his grievous loss not on the
sand but upon the sea. Hezekiah replied, with great deference, that the
cause in both cases was the same, for that the movement of sand went
on under the sea even more than ashore, and hence the fatal gulfing of
that ship, the Andalusia, and the loss of his young lordship.
The name he had given the ship surprised me; and indeed I felt sure that
it was quite wrong; and so I said immediately, without any low
consideration of what might be mine own interest. But the Coroner would
not hearken to me, being much impressed now with the learning and wisdom
of Hezekiah Perkins. And when Hezekiah presented his card, beginning
with "horologist," and ending with the "king and queen," he might have
had any verdict he liked, if he himself had been upon trial.
Therefore, after calling in (for the sake of form) the two poor women
who found the dead baby among the sea-weed, and had sevenpence apiece
for doing so, and who cried all the while that they talked in Welsh
(each having seen a dear baby like him not more than twenty years ago),
we came in the most unanimous manner, under his lordship's guidance, to
the following excellent verdict:--
"Found drowned on Pool Tavan rocks, a man-child, supposed to be two
years old; believed to be a young nobleman, from marks on pinafore, and
high bearing; but cast away by a storm of sand from the ship Andalusia
of Appledore."
Now I was as certain, as sure could be, that half of this verdict must
be wrong; especially as to the name of the ship, and her belonging to
Appledore, which never yet owned any craft of more than 200 tons at the
utmost--a snow, or a brig at the very outside. Nevertheless I was
compelled to give in to the rest of them, and most of all to the
Coroner. Only I said, as many who are still alive can remember, and are
not afraid to speak to, and especially my good friend Mr Lewis, "The
ship was not called the Andalusia; the ship was never from Appledore;
neither was she of British build. As an old seaman, it is likely that I
know more of the build of a ship than a lubber of a clock-maker, or
rather a clock-mauler."
But here I was put down sternly; and hearing of verdicts a great deal
worse, without any mischief come of them, I was even content to sign the
return, and have a new pipe of bird's-eye. And a bird's-eye view this
gave me of them at the second inquest wherein I had to give evidence;
and was not of the jury. They wanted to cross-examine me, because I had
been unpleasant, but of that they got the worst, and dropped it. But as
all our jurymen declared upon their oaths that the little nobleman was
drowned in a storm of sand, so they found that the five young rabbiters
came to their end of smothering through a violent sea-tempest.
In the days of my youth such judgments perhaps would have tried my
patience; but now I knew that nothing ever follows truth and justice.
People talk of both these things, and perhaps the idea does them good.
Be that according to God's will--as we always say when deprived of our
own--at any rate, I am bound to tell one little thing more about each
quest. And first about the first one. Why was I so vexed and angry with
my foolish tongue when Hezekiah began to speak? Only because I knew full
well that it would lead to the very thing, which it was my one desire to
avoid, if possible. And this--as you may guess at once, after what
happened on the stairs--was the rude fetching and exposing of the dear
little maid among so many common fellows; and to show her the
baby-corpse. I feared that it must come to this, through my own
thoughtless blabbing about her "ickle bother" in the presence of
Hezekiah: and if ever man had a hollow dry heart from over-pumping of
the tongue, I had it when Hezekiah came in; bearing, in a depth of
fright and wonder, and contempt of him, my own delicate Bardie. I had
set my back against the door, and sworn that they should not have her;
but crafty Perkins had stolen out by another door while they humoured
me. Now my pretty dear was awed, and hushed beyond all crying, and even
could not move her feet, as children do, in a kicking way. Trying to get
as far as possible from Hezekiah's nasty face--which gave me a great
deal of pleasure, because she had never done the like to me, unless I
were full of tobacco--she stretched away from his greasy shoulder, and
then she saw old Davy. Her hands came toward me, and so did her eyes,
and so did her lips, with great promise of kisses, such as her father
and mother perhaps might have been mightily tempted by; but nobody now
to care for them.
When Hezekiah, pretending to dandle this little lady in a jaunty way,
like one of his filthy low children, was taking her towards that poor
little corpse, so white in the light of the window; and when he made
her look at it, and said, "Is that ickle bother, my dear?" and she all
the time was shivering and turning her eyes away from it, and seeking
for me to help her, I got rid of the two men who held me, nor hearkened
I the Coroner, but gave Hezekiah such a grip as he felt for three months
afterwards, and with Bardie on my left arm, kept my right fist ready.
Nobody cared to encounter this; for I had happened to tell the
neighbourhood how the Frenchman's head came off at the time when he
tried to injure me; and so I bore off the little one, till her chest
began to pant and her tears ran down my beard. And then as I spoke
softly to her and began to raise her fingers, and to tickle her frizzy
hair, all of a sudden she flung both arms around my neck, and loved me.
"Old Davy, poor ickle Bardie not go to 'e back pit-hole yet?"
"No, my dear, not for ever so long. Not for eighty years at least. And
then go straight to heaven!"
"Ickle bother go to 'e back pit-hole? Does 'a think, old Davy?"
This was more than I could tell, though inclined to think it very
likely. However, before I could answer, some of the jury followed us,
and behind them the Coroner himself; they insisted on putting a question
to her, and so long as they did not force her again to look at that
which terrified her, I had no right to prevent them. They all desired to
speak at once; but the clerk of the Coroner took the lead, having as yet
performed no work toward the earning of his salt or rum. An innocent old
man he was, but very free from cleanliness; and the child being most
particular of all ever born in that matter, turned away with her mite of
a nose, in a manner indescribable.
He was much too dull to notice this; but putting back his spectacles,
and stooping over her hair and ears (which was all she left outside my
beard), he wanted to show his skill in babies, of which he boasted
himself a grandfather. And so he began to whisper,--
"My little dear, you will be a good child--a very good child; won't you,
now? I can see it in your little face. Such a pretty dear you are! And
all good children always do as they are told, you know. We want you to
tell us a little thing about pretty little brother. I have got a little
girl at home not so old as you are, and she is so clever, you can't
think. Everything she does and says; everything we tell her----"
"Take ayay 'e nasty old man. Take ayay 'e bad old man; or I never tis 'a
again, old Davy."
She flashed up at me with such wrath, that I was forced to obey her;
while the old man put down his goggles to stare, and all the jury
laughed at him. And I was running away with her, for her little breath
was hot and short; when the Coroner called out, "Stop, man; I know how
to manage her." At this I was bound to pull up, and set her to look at
him, as he ordered me. She sate well up in my arms, and looked, and
seemed not to think very highly of him.
"Look at his Honour, my dear," said I, stroking her hair as I knew she
liked; "look at his lordship, you pretty duck."
"Little child," began his Honour, "you have a duty to perform, even at
this early period of your very beginning life. We are most desirous to
spare your feelings, having strong reasons to believe that you are
sprung from a noble family. But in our duty towards your lineage, we
must require you, my little dear--we must request you, my little
lady--to assist us in our endeavour to identify----"
"I can say 'dentify,' old Davy; tell 'e silly old man to say 'dentify'
same as I does."
She spread her little open hand with such contempt at the Coroner, that
even his own clerk could not keep his countenance from laughing. And his
Honour, having good reason to think her a baby of high position before,
was now so certain that he said, "God bless her! What a child she is!
Take her away, old mariner. She is used to high society."