time,’ observed Rodley.
‘There’s a sight o’ poor chaps washed ashore hereabouts every gale,’
replied the man. ‘’Tain’t possible allus to say who they be or where
they come from. Saint Quinians’ churchyard is full on ’em.’
Not another word was spoken for at least twenty minutes. At the
expiration of that time, Rodley rose, went to the door, looked out,
remarked that the rain had stopped, put on his overalls, paid his
reckoning, wished the company ‘good-night,’ and went out into the
darkness.
‘Didn’t get much information out of these chaps!’ he muttered as he
pulled his hat down over his face against the driving wind and retraced
his steps towards the captain’s house. What with battling against the
wind and stumbling about the uneven road in the dark, it was an hour
before the solitary light in the captain’s house met Rodley’s gaze. He
crossed the small garden and knocked.
Bertha opened the door, and asked timidly: ‘Who is it?’
‘I—Jasper Rodley,’ was the reply.
She uttered a cry of alarm, and would have shut the door, but that
Rodley had placed his foot in the opening. The captain hearing his
daughter’s cry, came hobbling along the passage hastily. When he beheld
Rodley, a cloud came over his face, and he said: ‘Hillo, mate, what is
it at this time o’ night?’
‘I want a bed for to-night, and a few words with you, captain,’ said
Rodley, who by this time was fairly inside the house, and coolly taking
his hat and coat off.
‘But I’ve no room here. There’s an inn farther down, where they’ll put
you up better than we can.’
‘I’m a sailor, captain,’ replied Rodley, ‘and I don’t mind where I
shake down: that’s of no consequence, but the talk is.’
The captain, who seemed to treat his evidently unwelcome visitor with
a kind of deference, shrugged his shoulders, and led the way into
the sitting-room, where the remains of a substantial meal graced the
table. Jasper Rodley made himself very comfortable in an armchair; the
captain, who was the wreck of a fine man, and who, being lame from a
recent accident, used a stick, remained standing, as if uncertain how
to proceed next; whilst poor Bertha stood, trembling with fright, by
the door.
‘Captain,’ said the visitor, ‘isn’t ten o’clock the usual time for
young ladies to go to bed?’
At this hint, the old man made a signal to his daughter, who retired.
‘Now then,’ continued Rodley, ‘let’s to business.’
‘I’m not aware that I have any business with you,’ said the captain.
‘Well, you’ll soon have some with me. Look here. We’re men of the
world, and we must understand each other. I’ve only met you twice
before: each time you were coming from the same place, and each time
you were astonished, in fact, alarmed, at seeing me.’
‘Well, sir, and what of that?’ asked the old sailor. ‘Here am I, an old
East India Company’s skipper, living in a lonely place, where I don’t
see half-a-dozen people in the course of a month. You came upon me
suddenly, just when it was getting dark, and I was naturally startled.’
‘O no; that’s not it,’ continued Rodley. ‘But we’ll leave that for a
bit. First of all, I’m head over heels in love with your daughter.’
‘I’m sorry for it.’
‘And I intend to marry her,’ continued his visitor.
‘That depends firstly whether she will have you, which I very much
doubt,’ said the captain; ‘and secondly upon whether I let her go,
which I also doubt.’
‘So you think,’ sneered Rodley. ‘Now, then, to the other matter. Four
years ago, you were a poor man.’
‘So I am now,’ retorted the captain.
‘O no; you’re very well off; your private bank is safe enough.’
The captain fidgeted uneasily in his chair at this.
‘You see, I know more than you think,’ said Rodley; and bending over
and speaking in a lower tone of voice, he added: ‘Is it not a little
curious that you should have come into your fortune about the same
time that the _Fancy Lass_ was wrecked about a hundred yards from your
house?’
The poor old captain’s amazement and perplexity culminated here in a
start which sent his pipe flying from his hand. ‘Why, how do you know?
Who told you?’ gasped the old man. ‘Not a soul escaped from her.’
Jasper Rodley looked searchingly at him for a moment, and said:
‘Perhaps not. That’s got nothing to do with what we are talking about.’
‘And the boat went to pieces,’ added the captain.
‘You’re almost as well up in the subject as I am,’ said Rodley. ‘But
she was wrecked on Sherringham Shoal, and went to pieces on the Locket
Rock.’
‘Well?’ asked the captain.
‘And her cargo—valuable cargo it was,’ continued Rodley, actually
smiling with enjoyment at the misery he was causing—‘her cargo was
recovered.’
The old man rose and hobbled about the room in a state of pitiable
agony. ‘How do you know?’ he asked desperately.
‘The last time I met you,’ replied Rodley, ‘you were so startled that
you dropped something—this.’ He put his hand into his pocket and drew
out a sovereign.
‘What do you infer from that?’
‘Why, what’s the use of asking me what I infer? What’s the most natural
inference I should draw?’
The captain resumed his seat, and was silent for some minutes. In the
meanwhile, Rodley filled another pipe and mixed himself a glass of grog.
At length the old man said: ‘I understand the case to be this. You want
to marry my daughter. If I refuse, you’ll’——
‘I will expose you as having taken property which does not belong to
you,’ replied Rodley.
‘You must prove it,’ cried the captain. ‘Why shouldn’t I keep my
money where I think fit? This is a lonely house, in a dangerous
neighbourhood; the folk all about are desperate men—wreckers,
smugglers, old privateersmen, escaped pressed-men—men who, if they
thought I kept money and valuables on the premises, would not hesitate
to rob me; and what could we, a lame old man and a young girl, do to
protect ourselves?’
‘I can prove it,’ continued Rodley quietly. ‘But I’m not such a fool
as to tell you how I can prove it. Look here; we need not waste words
over it. You are in my power; you cannot escape. The price I put upon
keeping silence upon a matter which would bring you into the felon’s
dock, is the hand of your daughter Bertha. I give you a week to decide,
for the matter presses, and I do not intend to remain longer than I can
help at Saint Quinians.’
‘Then you would take my Bertha far away from me!’ exclaimed the old man
in horror.
‘Not necessarily; my business is on the sea. When I am away, she would
remain with you. It would comfort you, and relieve me of the expense of
keeping up an establishment, and would thus be an agreeable arrangement
for both parties. Is that a bargain?’
The old man bowed his head.
‘Mind,’ said Rodley, smiling, as he rose to go to bed, ‘I shall keep
strict watch on the—on the bank!’
THE CORACLE.
Having seen this boat of ancient Britain on those Welsh rivers where
it has been wont to float since the commencement of the historic
period—having seen a Welsh fisherman ferry his wife over the Towy in
a coracle, we will endeavour to describe this antique relic and to
relate a few leading facts of its history. Before the subjugation
of the British, this boat of theirs was probably found in all parts
of England; it is now confined to Wales, the last stronghold of the
British after the arrival of the Saxons—or English, as they are now
called. It is found, in fact, only in a few parts of Wales; and in
the course of this short narrative we shall not ramble far in other
regions, though it may be interesting to mention that boats exactly
similar in structure to the coracle of Wales are frequently used in
many parts of India for the purpose of crossing the rivers of that
great country; and this forms one of those obscure links which Mr
Borrow loved to dilate upon in his _Wild Wales_, a book of wonderful
attraction both to the learned and to travellers and tourists. Joining
all the links together into a connected chain, and taking language into
account, the evidence is strong that the Welsh, or ancient British,
were originally emigrants from India.
The antiquity of this queer little ark—for it is more ark than boat
in shape—is undoubted. Herodotus describes the common boats of the
Euphrates as having been in all respects similar in pattern and
construction to the coracles of Wales. The materials for making these
simple, home-built vessels were naturally such as the particular
country might afford. In India they were made of wicker, covered with
skins; and on the Euphrates they were of willow, covered with hides.
In the salmon-fishing season, almost any day except Sunday from April
till the end of August, coracles may still be observed on the rivers
Towy and Teivy, having remained there unaltered from the time when
the attention of Cæsar was attracted by them during his campaign in
Britain. A fisherman still slings his boat over his back, and carries
it home in that position; and on reaching his dwelling, he sets it
erect against the house-wall, and leaves it there till he again goes
fishing, when he carries it back to the water. An old Welsh adage
runs, ‘A man’s load is his coracle;’ and in former times, when this
old-fashioned boat was covered with raw hides, the load must have been
a heavy one. The hides, however, have now been discarded for a light
covering made of waterproof canvas. The shape of the coracle remains
unaltered. It is the broadest of boats in proportion to its length,
hence it moves through the water under the alternate stroke of the
paddle with a motion like the waddling of a duck.
The time arrived, as it usually does to men of genius, when Cæsar
turned the idea of the coracle to good account. Ptolemy had destroyed
his bridges, and the only boats that could have saved him were such
as he could build quickly of any common materials which might come to
hand. He remembered the coracle, which he had seen in Britain built of
hazel, or willow, or any kind of rods that were capable of being woven
so as to form a framework for the covering of skins. Cæsar immediately
proceeded to construct his boats; and by means of a number of coracles
of large size, but rapidly constructed, his army successfully crossed
the river, which had stopped and endangered its march.
A Welsh coracle for one passenger upsets so easily that a stroke from a
salmon’s tail is said to be more than the cranky little boat can bear
without being overturned. One person forms a full freight for a coracle
of the usual size, besides the one who uses the paddle; and that person
being the oarsman’s wife, he places her cautiously in the stern, and
declines a second passenger.
When there are two persons to be ferried over, one of them is usually
taken across first, and the other is left on the bank, and brought over
afterwards. During the voyage, certain precautions must be observed,
which are well understood by all persons accustomed to this kind of
navigation. But we remember on one occasion, when an English lady, a
tourist, was in the act of crossing the river below Cardigan, some of
her friends having already crossed, while others watched behind—for her
precautions before setting out had been elaborate. She had no sooner
reached the middle of the stream than she rose suddenly to her feet,
and the next moment was capsized and sprawling in the water. It is a
‘rule of the road’ never to stand up in a coracle.
This ancient boat possesses mythological as well as historical
interest, since it was first used symbolically in some of the curious
mystical rites of the Druids. Among the traditions of Bardism was that
of the bursting of the ‘lake of waters,’ when all mankind were drowned
except a single pair, who escaped to Wales in a naked vessel—that
is, a ship without sails. According to the Triads, this ark of Wales
contained a male and female of all living creatures including the
parents of the Cymry, or Welsh people. This human couple were in due
time deified, the Noah of the Cymry sharing this honour with his wife.
His symbol was an ox; hers, a cow. A Bardish and very singular rite of
sacrifice to one of these deities took place, curiously enough, at the
very spot where the largest number of coracles is now stationed, a boat
of this kind being used in the ceremony. At the mouth of the Teivy, in
Cardigan Bay, where the coracles are now used in trawling and setting
nets for the salmon-fishing, three miles below Cardigan, at the little
fishing village of St Dogmels, the sacrifice was celebrated. At the
appointed time, the Druids, clad in their emblematic white robes, and
the Bards in robes of sky-blue, assembled at the spot, when the victim
was placed in the coracle and the frail boat was turned adrift.
The coracle figured also on the important occasion of the probation
of a Bard, when it was used by the neophyte, or probationer, in his
passage to and from the island of Sarn Badrig, off the coast of
Carnarvonshire. In rough weather this would be an impossible feat.
Probably the Gwyddnaw (priest of the ship) selected a suitable day
for this occasion. Having brought the novice to the shore, the usual
confession was pronounced by him in these words: ‘Though I love the
sea-beach, I dread the open sea; a billow may come undulating over a
stone!’ The priest then spoke as follows, to reassure the novice: ‘To
the brave, to the magnanimous, to the amiable, to the generous, who
boldly embarks, the landing-place of the Bards will prove the harbour
of life.’
We will only add to this brief account of the coracle, or river-boat of
ancient Britain, that the name is derived from _corwg_, a ship.
HOSTESS AND GUEST.
PART II.—THE DUTIES OF A GUEST.
Having previously considered the question of the duties of a hostess,
I now come to speak of those of a guest; and the subject being less
exhaustive than the former one, can be treated with considerably more
conciseness.
Firstly, then, when invited to stay at a friend’s house, use your
judgment with regard to the advisability of accepting the invitation.
If it is proffered spontaneously and without any apparent object in
view, avail yourself of it, if inclination prompts you; but if you have
reason to think that you are only asked because the hostess thinks it
‘necessary,’ or deems it likely that you will ‘expect it,’ hasten to
write an apology at once. Never, however, do this, nor the reverse of
it, nor anything else, for the matter of that, on impulse—take time to
consider: it won’t occupy you long, and the result will repay you. On
no account reply to invitations on postcards: such missives, although
highly estimable and convenient in their proper place, should only
be made use of for the conveyal of unimportant messages. A lady who
favours you with an invitation to her house, may at least be considered
worthy of such trifles as a sheet of note-paper and a penny stamp.
When you have made up your mind to avail yourself of an invitation,
be sure to do so at the time specified by your hostess. Never
select your own time, except when especially requested; should
you be guilty of such a breach of etiquette, you would, in all
probability, seriously incommode your entertainer. It is the custom
in many families—especially those who live in the country—to invite
a succession of visitors, one after another; and if an invited guest
declines going at the time for which he is asked, he ought to remain
absent altogether; for, to say, ‘I cannot go to you next week, but
shall be happy to do so the week following,’ may considerably embarrass
the head of the house to which he has been bidden.
Supposing, then, that you have accepted an invitation to a friend’s
abode, be very careful not to miss the train, or other mode of
conveyance by which you have appointed to travel, lest your host’s
carriage—and perhaps some member of his family also—be kept, through
your carelessness, waiting to receive you at your destination. Do
not, on arriving at the house, make an unseemly fuss—as some persons
do—about the disposal of your luggage; leave the carrying in and
arranging of it entirely to the servants; and should anything go wrong,
rectify it afterwards. Ascertain as early as possible the hours for
meals, and be ready to the moment for such. Also, if it be customary
in the household to have family prayer, be prepared always to attend
it with punctuality, as nothing is more disturbing than to have
droppers-in entering the room when the service is half concluded. Do
not come down in the mornings before the shutters are opened or the
rooms made up; servants feel much aggrieved by this practice, nor is it
fair towards them. If you are, from habit, an early riser, remain in
your chamber, where you can read or write without being in anybody’s
way; or, if the weather be fine, go out for a walk, quietly, without
any slamming of doors or obtrusive noise or bustle. Always remember,
when entering the house after walking, to clean your boots well upon
the door-scraper and mat. Do not on any account neglect this most
important admonition; even though there may not be any perceptible
mud upon the soles of your footgear, a certain amount of dust will be
sure to cling, and will by no means improve your host’s carpets—or the
tempers of his servants.
Do not eat immoderately at table, or in a manner to occasion remark.
If you are afflicted with an abnormal appetite, satisfy its first
cravings in the privacy of your apartment with biscuits, sandwiches,
or something else of your own providing. It is dreadful to eat and
drink as though one had not for days enjoyed a meal. On the other
hand, do not, from a feeling of false delicacy, abstain from eating
enough. A healthy, hearty appetite is to be commended; nor is anything
more distressing to a hospitable hostess than to see her viands
unappreciated, while her guests leave table apparently unsatisfied
with what has been provided. It is needless to add that temperance in
drinking is all-important.
Be especially careful to avoid little _gaucheries_, of which even some
well-bred persons are occasionally guilty. Those who are accustomed to
live alone are particularly apt to fall into odd ways, because they
have not, as a rule, anybody to please or consult except themselves. I
have seen a man of title and position, who, through living an isolated
life, had many strange oddities: ignoring the use of the butter-knife
and using his own—touching the lips of the cruet-bottle with his
finger—turning over the contents of the biscuit-box—helping himself to
sugar without the aid of the spoon or tongs. Persons with whom he sat
in company called him ‘vulgar,’ whereas he was in reality _outré_ and
odd. A learned man, caring nothing for conventionalities, and living
wholly alone, he fell into strange habits, and they clung to him, which
is abundant proof that we ought, each and all of us, to guard against
such.
Carefully steer clear of topics of discourse that you think might by
any possibility be distasteful to anybody present; and if your host and
hostess, or other members of the household, should chance to disagree
in your presence upon any point, whether of great or little importance,
do not take any part in the discussion, or side with either combatant.
Maintain complete silence—or, if you can adroitly change the subject,
or turn the conversation into another channel, so much the better; but
this sort of thing requires so large an amount of tact and address,
that if not done nicely, it had better be left alone.
Endeavour at all times to be obliging in the household. Offer your
services upon all necessary occasions, but do not force them or appear
officious; it is bad taste, and is certain to worry your hostess. If
an entertainment is to take place in the house, keep out of the way
as much as possible during the preparations for it, unless you can be
of some substantial use; and while the festivity is in progress, do
all you can to oblige the entertainer and contribute to the enjoyment
of the guests. If you can sing, dance, or recite, do all (if asked)
without making a fuss about it. At the same time do not fall into the
opposite extreme of giving the company too substantial proof of your
prowess in the vocal or histrionic art. Some persons are a perfect
nuisance in this respect; once they sit down to the piano, they
cannot be induced to leave it, and keep on singing song after song,
to the exclusion of others and the weariness of the assembled guests.
Assist your hostess in effecting introductions, and, if necessary, in
ascertaining that each person has visited the supper-room and that
nobody has been overlooked. In short—feeling yourself for the time a
member of the household—perform all such duties as would, were you in
reality so, fall to your share.
Never give unnecessary trouble to servants. Avoid, as far as possible,
slopping water over your washstand, drenching the floor when you take
your bath, emptying the entire contents of the water-jug into the basin
every time you wash your hands throughout the day; throwing your soiled
linen carelessly about the room; leaving your wearing apparel scattered
promiscuously over the bed and the backs of the chairs; calling for hot
water when cold would serve you quite as well, or better; soiling three
or four pairs of boots and shoes in the day; leaving damp umbrellas
upon the hall-table instead of in the stand; and going in and out of
the house an unlimited number of times for idle pastime, when once or
twice would serve your purpose quite as well.
Be careful never to outstay your welcome. You can form a very good
idea, from the nature and wording of your invitation, how long you
are meant to remain, even though the time may not have been exactly
specified; but if there is any doubt about the matter, do not take
advantage of it by staying too long, or extend your visit to any
unusual length unless decidedly pressed to do so. It is far better
to go away leaving a wish for your return, than that there should be
the very smallest feeling of an opposite nature in the minds of your
entertainers.
Be particularly cautious during your visit never to allow yourself
to appear in the way. Should your host or hostess be called upon to
receive a long absent or favoured friend, or one who is a rare visitor,
retire quietly for a while, as there may be things to talk about that
your presence would forbid, or at all events hamper; but be sure that
you withdraw gracefully and without fuss, having a fair pretext on
your lips, if asked your reason for doing so, as—although a well-bred
hostess will never under any circumstances allow it to appear that
any member of her household is _de trop_—a ladylike or gentlemanlike
guest will never permit the possibility of her feeling that such is in
reality the case.
When Sunday comes round, attend worship with your entertainers, who
will probably be pleased by your doing so, rather than that you
should go wandering off to some distant church alone; and endeavour
throughout the day to adapt your ways and doings to those of your host
and hostess. If you do not like or approve their mode of passing the
Sabbath-day, you can take your leave before the next comes round; but
it is the worst possible taste for a visitor to isolate himself in his
own apartment, because the household of which he is _pro tem._ a member
sees no harm in certain things which stricter persons may; while, on
the other hand, it is equally objectionable to appear to ignore the
Sabbath, where those about you have been educated in a more rigid
school.
Finally, be kind and courteous to all, but never servile, nor yet
haughty, for the one is quite as bad as the other, and both are hateful
in the extreme. If, when you are departing, your host, or hostess,
invites you to come again, you may feel justly satisfied that you have
succeeded in making that most enviable thing—a good impression.
WHAT CAREER FOR TOM?
Ay, what was to be done with him? He had just completed his fifteenth
year, was famous at cricket and football, rode his bicycle up and down
the steepest gradients, was a fearless swimmer, and indeed the athletic
paragon of his schoolmates. But he began to tire of his lessons, and to
utter dark confidences to his sisters that ‘Latin would be no use to a
fellow when he grew up;’ that ‘he felt like a loafer as he went along
the lanes to the grammar-school;’ that ‘Sam Jackson and Harry Wilde
were going to business at Easter; and that if papa did not find him
something to do, he should perhaps run away to sea.’