TORN SAILS
_A TALE OF A WELSH VILLAGE_
BY
ALLEN RAINE
AUTHOR OF MIFANWY, A WELSH SINGER
NEW YORK
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1898
COPYRIGHT, 1898,
BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I.--Mwntseison
II.--Hugh Morgan
III.--Mari "Vone"
IV.--Owen's "bidding"
V.--Traeth-y-daran
VI.--Changes
VII.--A wedding call
VIII.--Confidences
IX.--Gwen's rebellion
X.--Hugh's suspicions
XI.--The storm
XII.--Unrest
XIII.--Doubts and fears
XIV.--The mill
XV.--Torn sails
XVI.--Peace
XVII.--The mill in the moonlight
TORN SAILS.
"Caraf ei morfa, a'i mynyddedd,
A'i gwilain gwynion, a'i gwymp wreigèdd."
--Hab Owain.
"I love her golden shores, her mountains bare,
Her snow-white seagulls, and her maidens fair."
--Trans.
CHAPTER I.
MWNTSEISON.
Between two rugged hills, which rose abruptly from the clear, green
waters of Cardigan Bay, the Gwendraeth, a noisy little river, found
its way from the moors above to the sands which formed the entrance
from the sea to the village of Mwntseison.
In the narrow valley, or "cwm," through which the fussy little
streamlet ran, the whole village lay. It looked like nothing more
than a cluster of white shells left by the storm in a chink of the
rocks, the cottages being perched in the most irregular confusion
wherever sufficient space could be found between the rocky knolls for
a house and garden.
The stream running through the centre of the village was an object of
interest and attraction to the whole community, being the common
rendezvous for all sorts of domestic operations. On its banks the
household washing was carried on, fires being lighted here and there,
on which the water was boiled in large brass pans. There was much
chattering and laughter, varied sometimes by hymn singing in chorus,
so that "washing day" at Mwntseison was a holiday rather than a day
of toil.
Here Nance Owen rinsed the laver-weeds[1] preparatory to boiling them
down into that questionable delicacy known as "laver-bread."
Here the sheep from the moors above were washed once a year with much
calling and shouting and barking of dogs. The barefooted boys and
girls paddled and sailed their boats in its clear waters in the
summer evenings; and here, when the storms of winter made the little
harbour unsafe, the fishing-boats were hauled up together; here, too,
the nets were washed; and here every day the willow baskets full of
vegetables were brought down to be rinsed before they were flung into
the boiling crock of water and oatmeal, which hung from every chimney
at the hour of noon, vegetables being the chief ingredients in the
appetising "cawl" that spread its aroma through the whole village.
A strong wooden bridge with an iron rail spanned the narrow river,
but was seldom used except in winter, a few broad stepping-stones
making a more natural mode of communication between the two sides of
the valley.
There was nothing like a street in Mwntseison, a rocky, stony road
alone passing through it down to the shore, in an independent sort of
way, as if disclaiming any connection with the cottages following its
course, and, where possible, rather clinging to its sides. Most of
the houses were straw thatched; a few had slated roofs, and they
looked awkward and bare in their uncongenial attire. The fierce
storms, however, which rushed up that narrow cwm in the winter months
soon softened any look of rawness which clung to such an innovation
as a slate roof!
At the end of the village nearest the sea, and not far from the top
of the cliff, stood a large, wooden building, which seemed to attract
much of the energy and interest of the place, for in and out of its
wide-open doors there was always somebody passing. Within its
boarded walls was carried on the thriving business of sail-making,
which gave employment and comfort to almost every household in the
village. Hard by, in a cleft of the great hillside, stood the house
of the master, Hugh Morgan, "Mishteer," as he was called, for he was
the owner of more than half of Mwntseison.
In Wales the landlord is still called "Master," and about the term
hangs, in spite of modern and radical suggestions, a flavour of the
old affection which once existed between landlord and tenant.
There was nothing in the house to distinguish it from the other
cottages, except that it was a little larger, and moreover boasted of
a second floor, over the two windows of which the brown thatch curved
its comfortable mantle.
Its front was well sheltered from the sea wind by a bank of the
cliff, covered with sea pinks and yellow trefoil. The sun shone full
upon its white-washed walls, and in the "cwrt," or front garden, grew
two splendid bushes of hydrangia, the pride of the village.
Inside, in the spacious old "pen-isha," or living-room, the brown
rafters hung low in the dim light, for the window was small, and
deeply set in the thick walls. The chimney was of the old-fashioned
sort, known as "lwfwr," and encircled within its wattled sides a
large portion of the kitchen. Under its shade there was room for the
small round table, the settle, and the cosy bee-hive or lip chair.
Along the front of its bulging brow ran a shelf, ranged upon which
stood various articles of pewter, copper, and brass, glittering with
all the brilliancy that Madlen, the maid's, strong arm could give
them. She was proud of her long service under the Mishteer, of the
pre-eminence which he held over the rest of the villagers; she was
proud of her well-scrubbed tables and chairs, and her invariably
clean and cheerful hearth; but above all things, she was proud of
that shelf with its shining company of "household gods." Indeed,
some of the articles ranged upon it would have roused the enthusiasm
of a modern collector of curios. The quaint, old brass bowl, with
its curious inscription, still faintly visible in spite of Madlen's
vigorous rubbing, a rugged old flagon of pewter, bearing the same
inscription, not to speak of the quaintly-shaped copper pans, and a
regiment of tall, brass candlesticks. When questioned as to the
manner in which he had become possessed of such a goodly array, Hugh
Morgan was wont to say carelessly, "Oh! I only know they were my
grandmother's, and I have heard her say they were _her_
grandmother's." He did not add, as he might have done, that she had
also told him that in long past days, the eldest son of the family
was always christened from that bowl, for he rather despised and
disliked any allusion to the old tradition afloat in the village that
his forefathers belonged to a different class from that in which he
now lived.
On the evening on which my story opens he had just come home to his
tea. The big doors of the sail-shed had been closed, the busy
workmen and women had separated and sauntered away, for nobody
hurried at Mwntseison. There was time for everything, and Ivor
Parry--Hugh Morgan's manager--had locked the door and put the key in
his pocket, with the comfortable feeling, so unfamiliar to dwellers
in towns, that he not only had plenty of work to fill up his time,
but also plenty of time for his work. He was tall and manly looking,
ruddy featured and blue-eyed, his broad forehead surmounted by thick
waves of light brown hair. It was a pleasant face to look upon, and
one which inspired confidence.
When as a boy of twelve he had entered upon his work in the
sail-shed, the Mishteer had been his ideal of all that was manly and
strong, and he had constituted himself not only his willing servant,
but his almost constant personal attendant. The Mishteer smiled at
first, but gradually learnt to value the lad's attachment; and, as
the years went on, they became fast friends, in spite of the
difference in their ages. Although their friendship was never marked
by any condescension in Hugh's manner, it was always felt by Ivor to
be a privilege as well as an honour, and this feeling had grown with
his growth, and increased with every year of personal intercourse
with his employer. Some such thoughts as these filled his mind
to-night as he traversed the bit of green sward lying between the
shed and the Mishteer's house.
Having hung the key on its usual nail near the door, he peeped round
the brown painted boards which divided the living-room from the
passage, and saw Hugh Morgan seated at his tea. He was well under
the shadow of the large open chimney, where a bright fire burned on
the stone hearth, although it was May; for here, in the face of the
north-west wind, the evenings were often cold.
Madlen had drawn the round table for cosiness near to the fire, in
the glow of which the tea-things and snowy cloth gleamed cheerfully,
while the little brown teapot kept company with the bubbling kettle
on the hearth.
"Oh, Mishteer," said Ivor, putting his head in, "I can remind Deio
Pantgwyn to send the waggon and horses to-morrow; I am going that
way."
"There's what I was thinking about," said Hugh; "but I thought thou
wert going to the singing class to-night at Brynseion?"
"They must do without me to-night. Owen Jones is a good leader,"
replied Ivor.
"H'm, h'm! I don't know," said Hugh thoughtfully, "how he'll manage
that change of key in the new glee; but I must watch him. Well, tell
Deio to be here at eleven to-morrow, for the sails for the Lapwing
have to be on the pier at Aberython by four in the afternoon."
"Right!" said Ivor laconically; "good-night." And away he went
whistling, with his hat pushed back, and his thumbs in the armholes
of his waistcoat.
The affection which he felt for his master was shared by almost every
man, woman, and child in the village, where Hugh Morgan's influence
had spread itself, unconsciously to him, through every household.
What special trait in his character had roused this strong feeling it
would be difficult to say; but the Welsh are an impressionable race,
and doubtless the uprightness and firmness of his moral principles,
coupled with an unswerving adherence to truth, had laid the
foundation of the power which he possessed over his neighbours. He
had also the reputation of being a shrewd man of business, and it
would have caused a shock of astonishment to the villagers had he
committed a dishonourable action, or miscalculated the result of a
business transaction. Their attachment to him was not unmixed with a
certain amount of wholesome fear, perhaps to be accounted for by the
complete dependence of the majority of them upon him for their daily
bread. He was a proof of the truth of the saying, "A little leaven
leaveneth the whole lump," for Mwntseison was, outwardly at least, a
pattern village. There was very little brawling or drinking,
considering that most of the younger inhabitants were seafaring men.
Later in the evening, as Ivor Parry wended his way towards Deio
Pantgwyn's farm, his cheerful whistle accompanied a train of busy
thought--pride in the consciousness that Hugh Morgan confided in him
entirely and made of him a special friend, gratitude for the
kindnesses which he had heaped upon him, and pleased satisfaction at
the thought that he was of real service to the Mishteer. On the brow
of the hill he passed the gaunt and bare Methodist Chapel, from the
open doors of which came a stream of music, the result of sixty or
seventy young fresh voices, blended into the delicious harmony of a
popular Welsh glee.
Ivor stopped to listen. His voice, the richest and most musical of
the whole party, was much missed in the gallery of the chapel, where
the singing class always met. He longed to enter, and take his usual
place; but the pleasure of serving Hugh Morgan outweighed this
desire. A smile flitted over his face as he listened attentively to
the female voices, which took one part alone. One voice soared above
the others in clearness and sweetness, and he took note of it with a
side jerk of his head.
"Gwladys," he said; "I would know it anywhere; yes, I would know it
amongst the angels in heaven!" and he turned down the stubby lane,
which led its meandering way through fields and farmsteads to
Pantgwyn, where Deio himself was whittling a stick at the house door.
When reminded of his promise to send the waggon and pair of horses
the next day to Hugh Morgan's workshop, he answered in a grumbling,
dissatisfied voice:
"Three horses you ought to have; 'twill be a heavy load for two."
"Not a bit of it," said Ivor; "you may be certain if three were
required the Mishteer would have them. If you lived in our village
you would know that, Deio."
"Oh! I have no doubt," answered the man, in a sneering voice; "the
King of Mwntseison is always right!"
"Well, eleven o'clock is the time--will you be there, or will you
not?"
"I'll be there," said Deio, still whittling.
"Good-night!" said Ivor, turning away, and receiving no answer from
the grumpy man. "Sulky old dog!" he soliloquised, as he retraced his
footsteps.
When he reached the chapel all was silent, the doors were closed, and
evidently the singing class was over. A look of disappointment came
over his face, to be quickly followed by one of satisfaction, as he
stooped to pick up a book, evidently dropped by a member of the glee
class which had just dispersed.
It was a thin book with a paper cover, and he recognised it as the
collection of glees then occupying the attention of the class.
"What good luck," he said, as he read the name on the cover in his
own handwriting, for he had distributed the books himself. "Gwladys
Price! that is lucky. I must take it up to her to-night," and
putting it carelessly into his pocket, he continued his whistling and
his walk.
Before he had gone many steps, however, he saw the owner of the book
come round a turn of the road, evidently in search of her lost
music--a girl of eighteen, slim, tall, and of unusual beauty. As she
approached, Ivor was able to note every charm and grace afresh,
though they were already indelibly stamped on his mind. Her wealth
of brown hair, uncovered by hat or hood, was gathered into a thick
knot at the back of her head; it was drawn straight away from the
broad, low brows, and on the head of a girl of shorter stature would
have looked heavy from its thickness, but the graceful neck carried
it with a perfect and easy pose. Her skin was of a pure white, and
almost transparent clearness, her cheeks of the rich pink of the
sea-shell; a pair of dark brown eyes, shaded by their long lashes,
looked out rather seriously upon the world, though they sometimes
added a sparkling glance to the smile on her expressive mouth; her
full red lips disclosed a row of perfect teeth. In fact, Gwladys
Price was, without doubt, the possessor of great beauty.
At the first glance she recognised Ivor, for--did they not work under
the same roof every day of their lives except Sundays? and on those
days did they not meet regularly three times in Brynseion Chapel?
"Aha, Gwladys, thou hast lost something I see, for thou are hunting
about."
"Yes--and thou hast found it, for I see it kiwking[2] out of thy
pocket."
"Well voyr![3] so it is; I was bringing it to your house."
"Oh, anwl! there's lucky I am to find it so soon. I missed it as
soon as I had taken off my hat. Thee wasn't at the singing class
to-night?"
"No--didst miss me?"
"Yes; Owen Jones' voice does not lead as well as thine."
This was not exactly what he had hoped to hear.
"Was the Mishteer there?"
"Yes, of course; we could not get on far without him. What a voice
he has, Ivor!"
"Yes, I thought I could distinguish it, from the road--and thine,
Gwladys! It was like a thread of silk in a skein of wool!"
"Since when art thou a bard, Ivor?" she said, with a merry laugh; "I
won't know thee in that guise!"
"Oh! I am not taken often in that way," he said; "but some sights
would make a bard of anyone!" and he gazed with rapture at the deep,
brown eyes.
But Gwladys was proof against any implied compliment, her simple
guileless nature was slow to take in any suggested admiration, more
especially from Ivor Parry, who she knew was rather given to fun and
banter. She had grown up so calmly and quietly, had budded into
womanhood so suddenly, as it seemed to Ivor, that with a tender
shrinking from disturbing the even tenor of her life, born of true
love, he had tried, and successfully, to hide his passion from
everyone, more especially from the object of it.
And thus it was that hitherto she had not guessed its existence,
neither did she know that she loved Ivor! They had grown up
together, had paddled in the same stream, sung in the same glee
classes, and latterly, for several years, had worked under the same
employer. Ivor had long known that the happiness of his life was
bound up in her, while she was only just awaking to the feeling that
the boy who, being seven years her elder, had always constituted
himself her protector, had grown into the man whom of all the world
she was most desirous of pleasing.
During this digression she had thoughtfully inspected her glee book.
"There's a beautiful glee we are learning now, isn't it? only 'tis
pity the words are English! There's hard to say, 'Whosse rocey
fingares ope the gates of day.'"
"'Tis hard at first," he answered.
A silence fell on them as they approached the village together. Ivor
was filled with varied feelings: pleasure at thus having Gwladys all
to himself, anxiety lest another should rush in where he feared to
tread, and above all, the difficulty of keeping his feelings under
proper control in her presence. "Only eighteen," he thought. "I
will wait till she is twenty; but meanwhile I will try to win her
love."
Oh, blind and foolish Ivor! and no less blind Gwladys! who stood upon
the brink of that awakening which should let in a flood of light and
happiness upon her life. Both seemed to shrink from drawing aside
the curtain which hid the future from their sight; for was it not
sufficient happiness thus to meet every day, and almost every hour of
the day? Was it not enough for Gwladys to raise her eyes from her
work on the rough sail-cloth, and see his stalwart form moving about
amongst the bales and cordage, and often to find his clear, blue eyes
fixed upon her! A word or a smile from him would raise a flush to
her face, and caused a tumultuous flutter under the pink muslin
'kerchief crossed in soft folds over her bosom. She knew it was
pleasant to be near him; but that he found the same delight in her
presence was beyond the range of her imagination, for was he not her
master in one sense, being Hugh Morgan's manager, who trusted him
entirely, and made no secret of his intention to take him into
partnership?
As they reached her mother's door, she hesitated to ask him in; but
he settled the matter by raising the thumb latch, and preceding her
into the cottage.
"Hello, Nani," he said; "here is your daughter, whom I found straying
about the roads, peering about like a chicken seeking for grain!"
As he spoke, a woman rose from a low oak stool by the fire with a
pleasant smile of welcome. She was pale and delicate-looking, but
still bore traces of the beauty which had once been hers.
"Wel! wel! Ivor Parry! it is you, indeed, who are so kind as to
bring me back the truant? Many thanks to you. She rushed away like
a wild thing, and I guessed she had lost her glee book. And how are
Lallo and Gwen?"
"Well, indeed, and in good spirits. You have heard the news, of
course! No? Gwen is going to be married next week. Siencyn Owen
and she have been long enough making up their minds, haven't they?"
"So soon!" answered Nani. "Wel! that will be a grand thing for
Lallo!"
"Would you be so willing to part with Gwladys, then?"
"No, indeed; that would be quite different; but Lallo! why, I don't
think there has ever been such a thing as a wedding in her family
before! Wel, not for three generations whatever!"
"No, I suppose not; but Gwen thinks a new name will be better than
the old one. After the bidding she will sail away with Siencyn in
the Speedwell."
"I am glad," said Nani; "and you will be glad, Ivor!"
"Yes," said the young man thoughtfully, "I will not be sorry,
although I have been very happy with Lallo and Gwen. I am going to
Mary the Mill's to-morrow. Wel! I must go now. Nos da, Nani; nos
da, Gwladys."
The girl was standing beside the little window looking over the sea,
her brown eyes fixed on the ripples of gold and crimson that
stretched away to the west. She pointed with her finger to the
sinking sun as she answered:
"Nos da. I was just thinking _there_ was something to make a bard of
thee."
Ivor saw that she had not understood his former compliment, so would
not venture upon another, and merely saying, "'Tis a promise of fine
weather," left the cottage.
"Come, dear heart," said Nani, "thee'lt want thy supper after all thy
singing! How did it go to-night?"
"Oh, pretty well, mother!" and as she sat down to the shining oak
table she hummed to herself the English words which had puzzled her:
"Who teeps the hills with gold,
Whosse rocey fingares ope the gates of day."
"What gibberish is that?" said the gentle-faced mother. "Now, don't
thee get too proud to speak Welsh! And Gwen is going to be married
so soon!"
"Ivor seems glad, mother."
"And no wonder! When a lass shows her love too plainly, a sensible
man draws back."
Gwladys did not answer for some time, till her mother spoke again.
"Didst think Ivor Parry would ever have taken a fancy to Gwen?"
"Oh, mother, no! never such a thing came to my thoughts! Ivor Parry!
no, no, he never thinks of such things!"
[1] The thin dark green seaweed, known to the learned as ulva
latissima. When boiled down, it is mixed with oatmeal, and fried in
butter.
[2] Peeping.
[3] Well, indeed!