I am only a plain fisherman, with but little book learning; but I think
I can muster up enough form o’ speech to tell you one of the skeeriest
tales you ever heard in all your born days.
It was the first week in January, 188--, that we had a dreadful gale
from the north-west which came at the full moon; consequently the tides
were high, and this here gale came with such a scouring force, that
the soft cliffs melted away like a lump of butter in the glare o’ the
sun. The sand was swep’ away right down to what you might term the
foundations of the shore, and everything laid as bare as my forehead.
I liken it to my forehead, which is kinder wrinkly, because there were
great ruts and scars along the beach which had once been holls,[1]
deeks,[2] and lokes.[3]
I and a mate o’ mine walked along the beach next day, just to see if
anything had been thrown ashore that would come in handy to a couple
of poor chaps like ourselves; but little did we find, for some one had
been pawkin’[4] before us. Still, we got a useful length of two-inch
rope and a couple of dantos,[5] attached to a score fathom of decent
net, so our walk paid for shoe-leather.
When we got to the third breakwater--for we live at Hasbro’--and peeped
over, we were wholly stammed[6] to see the old village of Eccles laid
bare and plain like a map. There was the walls of the housen standin’
up two foot and more in some places; and some of the door thresholds
were still there, with the wood as good as ever. We could make out the
shapes of the gardens, and could see where the fruit-trees had once
stood, by the roots and tree-bolls that still remained.
In grubbing about with a pointed boat-streak, I roused out an old
leathern bag with a golden guinea in it, and a piece of rusty iron
tangled in the strap, which might have been a knife or somethin’ of the
sort in days gone by.
Afterwards we looked over the churchyard wall, and to our surprise
found that many of the graves had been washed open; in fact, some of
the coffins lay there nearly level with the ground, for you know we
don’t bury very deep in Norfolk, not more than four foot, and only one
corpse in each hole.
The coffins wor of a different shape to what they make ’em now-a-days,
for they were long, like a seaman’s chest, but broad at one end and
narrow at the other, and the lid hinged on at one side.
Human bones were washing about in all directions, and a long line of
them lay among the rubbish left at high watermark. We found one immense
coffin near the north wall of the church, which must have been seven
foot long, if it was an inch. The lid was much decayed, and in some
parts broken away; so we thought it no sin to prize the rest off, and
see what was inside.
It was level full of sand, but when we scooped some of it out with
our hands, we came upon the perfect skelington of a man, black with
age, but nothing missing. It looked as if he might have been the
giant Goliar that we read of in the Bible. He was no use to us, so we
covered him up decent like, and as it was getting towards dark we took
ourselves home agin.
Next day I borrowed old Garrod’s dickey,[7] and rode up to Stalham, and
called on old Dr. Rix, for he was what some folks call a aquarian, or
somethin’ o’ that sort, and showed him my guinea in the bag, and the
old bit o’ steel; and he gave me just what I asked him for ’em, and
that was two-and-twenty shillings: he was pleased, and so was I, for it
was just as much as I could earn in a fortnight. I stopped at his some
time goldering[8] about what I had seen at Eccles, and he up and told
me, when I mentioned about the big skelington, that if I could bring
it to him _intack_--that’s not broken or any bits lost--he’d give me a
five-pound note.
Lor, I wor soon home agen, I made the old dickey fly as if the Old ’un
were arter us. Thinks I, this ought to be a single-handed job, and if
I take a big poke[9] and go alone, I shan’t have any one to dole[10]
out halves to. So I got my spade and a lantern, a poke, and a fairish
thumbpiece of bacon and bread, and everything else I wanted all ready,
and then waited till near midnight, so that I knew the coast would be
clear for the job.
It was a thick, starless night, with great grey snow-clouds rolling
about overhead, and the wind from the north-east was a regular
marrer-freezer, and I can’t say I much cared for the work in hand;
but, as the parson said when he went on a slide, “it’s foolish to turn
back,” so on I went. The road was frozen right nubbly, and made me
wobble about a bit, but by the time I got to the beach I was warm and
comfortable, and got along more comfortable-like on the frozen sand,
which was covered with snow in the hollows. The sand and foam from
seaward was a bit unpleasant, but I didn’t trouble much about that, for
my thoughts were a mile ahead, with the skelington waiting for me at
Eccles.
I had walked about half-a-mile along the beach, when down came the
snow, wreathing and tearing about all mander[11] of ways, and every now
and then I got into the centre of a whirl that pulled me up short, and
nearly took my breath away. This only lasted a few minutes, and then
the squall cleared off as suddenly as it came on, and I got on much
faster with my journey.
I passed the first and then the second breakwater, and by the light
that the sea always gives, I was picking my way along very nicely,
when, what should I see, but some one a-coming towards me along the
beach. I had not lighted my lantern, as I only wanted that for my
actual work, so it was possible the man approaching might not have
caught sight of me, and as I did not want to be seen by any one at that
time of night, especially by a coastguard, I dropped quietly on the
sand in a hollow, in hopes that whoever it was might pass me by.
Down I went on my stummick, but kept my eyes on the man approaching,
and found to my surprise that he was dressed in very light clothes; not
a coastguard, I thought, at all events.
Closer he came, and then I began for some reason or other to dudder[12]
and tremble, but I can’t tell why, perhaps it was the cold; anyway,
there was nothing I could see in the stranger that should fright me;
that is to say, not just then, when I felt the first symptoms.
But presently, when he came closer, I had some cause to shake, for
what I saw was a man in a long white smock, which blew out in the wind
behind him as he stalked along. The nearer he came the worse I felt,
for he seemed to grow taller and taller every step he took.
Would he pass me?
Yes!
No!!
No, up he came, right straight to me, and I felt like fainting--or what
I should fancy fainting was like, for I have never experienced it.
When he came close, I could not have stood on my feet for the value of
Norwich Castle; I was right terrified, although the man had not even
spoke a word.
As I looked up he towered above me like a lugger’s mast, and his great
bare legs were right against me. I panted, for I could not speak, but
presently, in a foreign sort of voice, the figure said--
“Hullo, my friendt, anything amiss?”
I looked at him again and my fear fled, for I immediately took him to
be a shipwrecked mariner, cast ashore in his sleeping gear from some
vessel.
My strength at once returned, and I stood upon my feet; but although
five feet eight in my socks, and weighing fourteen stone in my
oil-frock, I was only a baby by the side of my visitor, whose shoulder
was more than level with the top of my head. This did not frighten me
much, but when I looked at his eyes--Oh, lor! I thought I should have
dropped on all fours again.
His eyes were red and glowing like the port-light of a ship, and when
he spoke, the inside of his mouth seemed to reflect a fire, which must
have been raging in his internal regions.
I felt real bad, but could not keep my eyes off that huge face, with
its flaming eyes and mouth, and I vowed I would never come out,
single-handed, skelington-hunting again--no, not for the whole R’yle
Mint.
“Mine friendt,” said the giant, “you are just de man I wandt der see;
you haf a spade. You come mit me to Eccles?”
Would I? Could I say no?