Charles Kingsley wrote "The Water-Babies, a Fairy Tale for a
Land-Baby," under romantic circumstances. Reminded in 1862 of
a promise he had made that "Rose, Maurice, and Mary have got
their books, the baby must have his," Kingsley produced the
story about little Tom, which forms the first chapter in "The
Water-Babies," a fairy tale occupying a nook of its own in the
literature of fantasy for children. After running serially
through "Macmillan's Magazine," the "Water-Babies" was
published in book form in 1863, dedicated "To my youngest son,
and to all other good little boys." Mrs. Kingsley, in the life
of her husband says "that it was perhaps the last book that he
wrote with any real ease." The story, with its irresponsible
and whimsical humour, throws an altogether delightful light
upon the character of Charles Kingsley--clergyman, lecturer,
historian, and social reformer.
_I.--"I Must be Clean!"_
Once upon a time there was a little chimney-sweep, and his name was Tom.
He lived in a great town in the North Country where there were plenty of
chimneys to sweep and plenty of money for Tom to earn, and his drunken
master to spend. He could not read nor write, and did not care to do
either; and he never washed himself, for there was no water up the court
where he lived. Chimney-sweeping and hunger and beatings, he took all
for the way of the world, and when his master let him have a pull at the
leavings of his beer Tom was the jolliest boy in the whole town.
One day, Tom's master, Mr. Grimes, was sent for to sweep all the
chimneys at Sir John Harthover's mansion, Harthover Place.
At four in the morning they passed through the silent town together and
along the peaceful country roads to Sir John's, Mr. Grimes riding the
donkey in front and Tom and the brushes walking behind. On the way they
came up with an old Irishwoman, limping slowly along and carrying a
heavy bundle. She walked along with Tom and asked him many questions
about himself, and seemed very sad when he told her that he knew no
prayers to say. She told him that she lived far away by the sea; and,
how the sea rolled and roared on winter nights and lay still in the
bright summer days, for the children to bathe and play in it; and many a
story more till Tom longed to go and see the sea and bathe in it
likewise.
When, at length, they came to a spring, Grimes got off his donkey, to
refresh himself by dipping his head in the water. Because Tom followed
his example, his master immediately thrashed him.
"Are you not ashamed of yourself, Thomas Grimes?" said the Irishwoman.
Grimes looked up, startled at her knowing his name; but he answered:
"No, nor never was yet," and went on beating Tom.
"True for you. If you ever had been ashamed of yourself, you would have
gone into Vendale long ago."
"What do you know about Vendale?" shouted Grimes; but he left off
beating Tom.
"I know about Vendale and about you, too, and if you strike that boy
again I can tell you what I know."
Grimes seemed quite cowed and got on his donkey without another word.
"Stop!" said the Irishwoman. "I have one more word for you both, for you
will see me again. Those that wish to be clean, clean they will be; and
those that wish to be foul, foul they will be. Remember."
She turned away into a meadow and disappeared. And Tom and Grimes went
on their way. When they came to Harthover Place, the housekeeper turned
them into a grand room all covered up in sheets of brown paper. Up the
chimney went Tom with a kick from his master.
How many chimneys Tom swept I cannot say; but he swept so many that he
got tired, and puzzled too, for they ran into one another so that he
fairly lost his way in them. At last he came down. But it was the wrong
chimney, and he found himself in a room the like of which he had never
seen before. The room was all dressed in white: white window-curtains,
white bed-curtains, white furniture, and white walls. There was a
washhand-stand, with ewers and basins, and soap and brushes and towels;
and a large bath full of clean water. What a heap of things--all for
washing!
And then he happened to look towards the bed, and there lay the most
beautiful little girl Tom had ever seen. He wondered whether all people
were as white as she when they were washed. Thinking of this, he tried
to rub some of the soot from his own wrist, and thought, perhaps, he
might look better himself if he were clean.
And looking round, he suddenly saw a little ugly black figure with
bleared eyes and grinning teeth. And behold, it was himself reflected in
the mirror. With tears of shame and anger at the contrast he turned to
sneak up the chimney and hide. But in his haste he upset the fire-irons.
Up jumped the little white lady with a scream; in rushed her nurse and
made a dash at Tom. But out of the window went he and down a tree and
away through the garden and the park into the wood beyond, with the
gardener, the groom, the dairymaid, Grimes, the steward, the keeper, Sir
John, and the Irishwoman all in hot pursuit.
Through the wood rushed Tom until he came to a wall, where his quick
wits enabled him to evade his pursuers--except the Irishwoman, who
followed him all the way, although he never knew.
At length he stood on a limestone rock which overhung a valley a
thousand feet below, and down there he could see a little stream winding
in and out, and by the stream a cottage. It was a dangerous descent, but
down went Tom without a moment's hesitation; sick and giddy, on he went
until at last he dropped on the grass and lay there unconscious. But
after a time he roused himself and stumbled on to the cottage.
The old dame of the cottage took pity on him and laid him on a bed of
sweet hay. But Tom could not rest, and think of the little white lady,
he found his way to the river murmuring. "I must be clean! I must be
clean!"
And still he had not seen the Irishwoman; in front of him now, for she
had stepped into the river just before Tom, and had changed into the
most beautiful of fairies underneath the water. For she was, indeed, the
Queen of the Water-Fairies, who were all waiting to receive her the
moment she came back from the land-world.
Tom was so hot and longed so to be clean for once that he tumbled as
quick as he could into the cool stream. And he had not been in it half a
minute before he fell into the quietest, coolest sleep that ever he had
in his life. The reason of his falling into such a delightful sleep is
very simple. It was merely that the fairies took him. In fact, they
turned him into a water-baby.
Meanwhile, of course, the chase after Tom had come to an end, although
Sir John and his keepers made a second search the next day, for he felt
sorry for the little sweep, and was afraid he might have fallen over
some of the crags. They found the little fellow's rags by the side of
the stream, and they also discovered his body in the water, and buried
it over in Vendale churchyard.
_II.--A Lonely, Mischievous Water-Baby_
Tom was very happy swimming about in the river, although he was now only
about four inches long, with a set of external gills, just like those of
an eft. There are land-babies, and why not water-babies? Some people
tell us that water-babies are contrary to nature, but there are so many
things in nature which we don't expect to find that there may as well be
water-babies as not.
He was still as mischievous as any land-baby, and made himself a perfect
nuisance to the other creatures of the water, teasing them as they went
about their work, until they were all afraid of him, and got out of his
way, or crept into their shells; so that he had no one to speak to or to
play with.
It was from a dragon-fly that he learned some valuable lessons in good
conduct. For all his short sight the dragon-fly had noticed a great many
interesting things in nature, about which Tom knew nothing, and of which
he heard with wonder. One day he might have been eaten by an otter; but,
behold, seven little terrier dogs rushed at the otter, and drove her
off, much to Tom's relief, though he did not guess that these were
really water-fairies sent to protect him.
But before the otter had been headed off she had twitted Tom with being
only an eft, and told him he would be eaten by the salmon when they came
up from the sea--the great wide sea. Tom himself decided he would go
down the stream, and discover what the great wide sea was like.
One night Tom noticed a curious light, and heard voices of men coming
from the bank of the river.
Soon after a large salmon was speared. Then other men seemed to arrive;
there were shouts and scufflings; and then a tremendous splash, and one
of the men fell into the river close to Tom. He lay so still that Tom
thought the water must have sent him to sleep as it had done him; so he
screwed up courage to go and look at him. The moonlight lit up the man's
face, and Tom recognised his old master, Grimes. Suppose he should turn
into a water-baby! But he lay quite still at the bottom of the pool, and
never went poaching salmon any more.
Every creature in the stream seemed to be hurrying down to the sea, and
Tom, being the only water-baby among all the squirming eels and the
scores of different things, big and little, he had many strange
adventures before he came to the sea. But great was his disappointment
to find no water-babies there to play with, though he asked the
sea-snails, and the hermit crabs, and the sun-fish, and the bass, and
the porpoises. But though one fish told him that he had been helped the
previous night by the water-babies, Tom could find no trace of them at
all.
Now, one day it befell that on the rocks where Tom was sitting with a
lobster there walked the little lady, Ellie, herself, and with her a
very wise man, Professor Pttmllnsprts, who was a very great naturalist.
He was showing her about one in ten thousand of all the beautiful and
curious things that are to be seen among the rocks. Presently, as he
groped with his net among the weeds he caught poor Tom.
"Dear me!" he cried, "what a large pink Holothurian. It has actually
eyes. Why, it must be a Cephalopod!"
"It is a water-baby," cried Ellie.
"Water-fiddlesticks, my dear!" said the professor sharply.
Now, Tom was in a most horrible fright, and between fright and rage he
turned to bay and bit the professor's finger.
"Oh! Eh!" cried he, and dropped Tom on to the seaweed, whence he was
gone in a moment.
"But it was a water-baby!" cried Ellie. "Ah, it is gone!" And she jumped
down off the rock. But she slipped and fell with her head on a sharp
rock, and lay quite still.
The professor picked her up and took her home, and she was put to bed.
But she would not waken at all, and after a week, one moonlight night
the fairies came flying in at the window, and brought her a pair of
wings. And she flew away, and nobody heard or saw anything of her for a
long while.
_III.--In St. Brandon's Fairy Isle_
After Tom slipped away into the water again, he could not help thinking
of Ellie, and longed to have her to play with, for he had not succeeded
in finding any other water-babies. But soon he had something else to
think of. One day he helped a lobster caught in a lobster-pot to get
free; and then, five minutes after, he came upon a real live water-baby,
sitting on the white sand.
And it ran to Tom, and Tom ran to it, and they hugged and kissed each
other for ever so long. At last Tom said. "Well, this is wonderful! I
have seen things just like you again and again, but I thought you were
shells or sea-creatures."
Now, was not this very odd? So odd, indeed, that you will, no doubt,
want to know how it happened, and why Tom could never find a water-baby
till after he had got the lobster out of the pot. But if you will read
this story nine times over, you will find out why. It is not good for
little boys and girls to be told everything and never to be forced to
make use of their own wits.
"Now," said the baby, "come and help me plant this rock which got all
its flowers knocked off in the last storm, or I shall not have finished
before my brothers and sisters come, and it is now time to go home."
So they worked away at the rock, and planted it, and smoothed the sand
down round it, and capital fun they had till the tide began to turn. And
then Tom heard all the other babies coming, laughing and singing and
romping; and the noise they made was just like the noise of a ripple.
And in they came, dozens and dozens of them, and when they found that he
was a new baby, they hugged and kissed him. And there was no one ever so
happy as poor little Tom, and he gaily swam away with them to their home
in the caves beneath St. Brandan's fairy isle. But I wish Tom had given
up all his naughty tricks. He would meddle with the creatures, frighten
the crabs, and put stones in the anemones' mouths to make them fancy
dinner was coming.
The other children warned him, and said, "Take care what you are at, as
Mrs. Bedonebyasyoudid is coming on Friday."
Early one Friday morning this tremendous lady came, indeed. Very ugly
Tom thought her, with her green spectacles on a great hooked nose and a
big birch rod under her arm. She looked at all the children, and seemed
pleased with them, for she gave sea-cakes or sea-lollipops to them all.
At last Tom's turn came, and she put something in his mouth, and lo! and
behold, it was a cold, hard pebble.
"Who put pebbles in the sea-anemones' mouths to make them fancy they had
caught a good dinner? As you did to them, so I must do to you."
Tom thought her very hard, but she showed him she had to do it because
it was her work. She told him, too, that she was the ugliest fairy in
the world, and would be until people learned to behave as they should,
when she would grow as handsome as her sister, Mrs.
Doasyouwouldbedoneby, the loveliest fairy in the world.
Tom tried hard to be good on Saturday; he did not frighten one crab, nor
put one pebble into a sea-anemone's mouth.
Sunday came, and so did Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby. All the children
danced round her, for she had the sweetest, merriest face Tom had ever
seen.
"He's the new water-baby," they informed the fairy. "He never had any
mother."
"Then I will be his mother," she said, and took him in her arms. And Tom
looked up in her face, and loved her, and fell asleep for very love.
When he awoke she was telling the children a story.
"Now," she said to Tom, as she prepared to go, "will you be good, and
torment no sea-beasts until I come again?"
Tom promised, and tormented no sea-beasts after that as long as he
lived; and he is quite alive, I assure you, still.
_IV.--At the Other-End-of-Nowhere_
Being happy and comfortable does not always mean being good; and so it
was with Tom. He had everything he could wish for in St. Brandan's fairy
isle. But now he had grown so fond of lollipops that he could think of
nothing else, and longed to go to the cabinet where they were kept. At
last he went to take just one; then he had one more, and another, and
another, until they were all gone. And all the while Mrs.
Bedonebyasyoudid stood close behind him, though he neither heard nor saw
her.
Tom was very surprised when she came again to see that she had just as
many lollipops as before. He thought therefore that she could not know.
But he was very unhappy all that week, and long after it, too. And
because his conscience had been pricking him inside, his outside grew
horny and prickly as well, until he could bear it no longer, and told
Mrs. Bedonebyasyoudid all about it, and asked her to take away the
prickles. But she told him only he could do that, that he must go to
school, and she would fetch him a schoolmistress.
Soon she returned with the most beautiful little girl that was ever
seen. Tom begged her to show him how to be good, and get rid of his
prickles. So she began, and taught him every day except on Sunday, when
she went away. In a short time all Tom's prickles had disappeared. Then
the little girl knew him, she said, for the little chimney-sweep who had
come into the bedroom.
"And I know you," said Tom; "you are the little white lady I saw in
bed." And then they began telling each other all their story. And then
they set to work at their lessons again, and both liked them so well
that they went on till seven full years were past and gone.
Tom began to be very curious to know where Ellie went on Sundays, and
why he could not go, too.
"Those who go there," said Mrs. Bedonebyasyoudid, "must first learn to
go where they do not want to go, and to help someone they do not like."
And Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby said the same. Tom was very unhappy now.
He knew the fairy wanted him to go and help Grimes; he did not want to
go, and was ashamed of himself for not going. But just when he was
feeling most discontented Mrs. Bedonebyasyoudid encouraged him until he
was quite anxious to seek for Grimes.
"Mr. Grimes is now at the Other-end-of-Nowhere," said the fairy. "To get
there you must go to Shiny Wall, and through the White Gate which has
never yet been opened. You will then be at Peacepool, where you will
find Mother Carey, who will direct you to the Other-end-of-Nowhere."
Tom immediately set out to find his way to Shiny Wall, asking the way of
all the birds and beasts he met. He at length received help from the
petrels, who are Mother Carey's chickens, and so reached Shiny Wall. He
was dismayed to find that there was no gate, but taking the birds'
advice, he dived underneath the wall, and went along the bottom of the
sea for seven days and seven nights, until he arrived in Peacepool.
There sat Mother Carey, a marble lady on a marble throne--motionless,
restful, gazing down into the depths of the sea.
Following Mother Carey's directions, Tom at length arrived at the
Other-end-of-Nowhere, after meeting with many strange adventures. He had
not long arrived in this strange land when he was overtaken by several
policemen's truncheons, one of which conducted him to the prison where
Grimes was quartered. Here, on the roof, his head and shoulders just
showing above the top of chimney No. 343, was poor Mr. Grimes, with a
pipe that would not draw.
He thought Tom had simply come to laugh at him until he assured him that
he had only come to help. Suddenly Mrs. Bedonebyasyoudid appeared. She
reminded Grimes that he was only suffering now what he had inflicted on
Tom. She told him, too, how his mother had gone to heaven, and would no
more weep for him. Gradually Grimes's heart softened, and when Tom
described her kindness to him at Vendale, Grimes wept. Then his tears
did for him what his mother's could not do, for as they fell they washed
the soot off his face and his clothes, and loosened the mortar from the
bricks of the chimney.
"Will you obey me if I give you a chance?" said Mrs. Bedonebyasyoudid.
"As you please, ma'am. For I'm beat, and that's the truth," said he.
"Be it so, then--you may come out. But remember, disobey me again, and
into a worse place still you will go."
"I beg your pardon, ma'am, but I never disobeyed you that I know of. I
never set eyes upon you until I came to these ugly quarters."
"Never saw me? Who said 'Those that will be foul, foul they will be'?"
Grimes looked up, and Tom looked up, too; for the voice was that of the
Irishwoman who met them the day they went out together to Harthover. She
ordered Grimes to march off in the custody of the truncheon, who was to
see that he devoted himself to the considerable task of sweeping out the
crater of Etna.
Tom went back to St. Brandan's Isle, and there found Ellie--grown into a
beautiful woman. And he looked at her, and she looked at him; and they
liked the employment so much that they stood and looked for seven years
more, and neither spoke nor stirred.
At last they heard the fairy say, "Attention, children! Are you never
going to look at me again?"
They looked, and both of them cried out at once: "You are our dear Mrs.
Doasyouwouldbedoneby! No, you are good Mrs. Bedonebyasyoudid; but you
are grown quite beautiful now."
"To you," she said. "But look again."
"You are Mother Carey," said Tom, in a very low, solemn voice. For he
had found out something which made him very happy, and yet frightened
him more than all that he had ever seen.
And when they looked again she was neither of them, and yet all of them
at once.
"My name is written in my eyes, if you have eyes to see it there."
And her eyes flashed, for one moment, clear, white, blazing light; but
the children could not read her name, for they were dazzled, and hid
their faces in their hands.
"Not yet, young things, not yet," said she, smiling. And then she turned
to Ellie.
"You may take him home with you on Sundays, Ellie. He has won his spurs
in the great battle, and become fit to be a man; because he has done the
thing he did not like."
* * * * *
Westward Ho!
"Westward Ho!" was published in 1855, and, on the whole, may
be accepted as the most popular of all Charles Kingsley's
novels. It is a story full of the life and stir of Elizabethan
England, and its heroes and heroines are the stout-hearted
Devonshire people whom Kingsley knew and loved so well. Like
most historical romances, "Westward Ho!" must not be accepted
as history, in spite of the fact that its author was Regius
Professor of History at Cambridge. Kingsley's whole-hearted
and entirely creditable patriotism and his intense devotion to
the established Church of England prevented his doing justice
to Spain or looking with sympathy on Roman Catholicism. (See
Newman, Vol. XIII.) Kingsley never could refrain from
preaching his own convictions, and while this often interfered
with the art of the novelist, it gave a note of sincerity to
all his work, and warmth and colour to his style.
_I.--How Amyas Came Home the First Time_
One bright summer's afternoon in the year 1575 a tall and fair boy came
lingering along Bideford Quay, in his scholar's gown, with satchel and
slate in hand, watching wistfully the shipping and the sailors, till,
just after he had passed the bottom of the High Street, he came to a
group of sailors listening earnestly to someone who stood in the midst.
The boy, all alive for any sea news, must needs go up to them, and so
came in for the following speech, delivered in a loud, bold voice, with
a strong Devonshire accent.
"I tell you, as I, John Oxenham, am a gentleman, I saw it with these
eyes, and so did Salvation Yeo there; and we measured the heap, seventy
foot long, ten foot broad, and twelve foot high, of silver bars, and
each bar between a thirty and forty pound weight. Come along! Who lists?
Who lists? Who'll make his fortune?"
"Who'll list?" cried a tall, gaunt man, whom the other had called
Salvation Yeo. "Now's your time! We've got forty men to Plymouth now,
ready to sail the minute we get back; and we want a dozen out of you
Bideford men, and just a boy or two, and then we'm off and away, and
make our fortunes or go to heaven."
Then the gaunt man pulled from under his arm a great white buffalo horn,
covered with rough etchings of land and sea.
The horn was passed from hand to hand, and the schoolboy got a nearer
sight of the marvel. To his astonished gaze displayed themselves cities
and harbours, plate ships of Spain, and islands with apes and
palm-trees, and here and there over-written: "Here is gold," and again,
"Much gold and silver." The boy turned it round and round, anxious to
possess this wonderful horn. And Oxenham asked him why he was so keen
after it.
"Because," said he, looking up boldly, "I want to go to sea. I want to
see the Indies. I want to fight the Spaniards." And the lad, having
hurried out his say, dropped his head.
"And you shall," cried Oxenham. "Whose son are you, my gallant fellow?"
"Mr. Leigh's, of Burrough Court."
"Bless his soul! I know him as well as I do the Eddystone. Tell your
father John Oxenham will come and keep him company."
The boy, Amyas Leigh, took his way homewards, and that night John
Oxenham dined at Burrough Court; but failed to get Mr. Leigh's leave to
take young Amyas with him, nor did Sir Richard Grenville, the boy's
godfather, who was also at dinner, help him with his suit.
But somewhat more than a twelvemonth later, Mr. Leigh, going down on
business to Exeter Assizes, caught--as was too common in those days--the
gaol-fever from the prisoners, sickened in the very court, and died
within a week.
"You must be my father now, sir," said young Amyas firmly to Sir Richard
Grenville, on the day after the funeral.
And shortly afterwards, Amyas having broken his slate on the head of
Vindex Brimblecombe, Sir Richard thought it well to go up to Burrough.
And, after much talk and many tears, matters were so concluded that
Amyas Leigh found himself riding joyfully towards Plymouth, and being
handed over to Captain Drake, vanished for three years from the good
town of Bideford.
And now he is returned in triumph, and the observed of all observers.
The bells of Bideford church cannot help breaking forth into a jocund
peal. Bideford streets are a very flower-garden of all the colours,
swarming with seamen and burghers and burghers' wives and daughters, all
in their holiday attire. Garlands are hung across the streets and
tapestries from every window. Every stable is crammed with horses, and
Sir Richard Grenville's house is like a very tavern. Along the little
churchyard streams all the gentle blood of North Devon, and on into the
church, where all are placed according to their degrees, not without
shovings and whisperings from one high-born matron and another. At last
there is a silence, and a looking toward the door, and then distant
music which comes braying and screaming up to the very church doors. Why
are all eyes fixed on those four weather-beaten mariners, decked out
with knots and ribbons by loving hands? And yet more on that gigantic
figure who walks before them, a beardless boy, and yet with the frame
and stature of a Hercules, towering, like Saul of old, a head and
shoulders above all the congregation? And why, as the five fall on their
knees before the altar rails, are all eyes turned to the pew where Mrs.
Leigh, of Burrough, has hid her face between her hands, and her hood
rustles and shakes to her joyful sobs? Because there was fellow-feeling
of old in country and in town. And these are Devon men, and men of
Bideford; and they, the first of all English mariners, have sailed round
the world with Francis Drake, and are come to give God thanks.
_II.--The Brotherhood of the Rose_
It was during the three years of Amyas's absence that Rose Salterne, the
motherless daughter of that honest merchant, the Mayor of Bideford, had
grown into so beautiful a girl of eighteen that half North Devon was mad
about the "Rose of Torridge," as she was called. There was not a young
gallant for ten miles round who would not have gone to Jerusalem to win
her, and not a week passed but some nosegay or languishing sonnet was
conveyed into the Rose's chamber, all of which she stowed away with the
simplicity of a country girl.
Frank Leigh, Amyas's elder brother, who had won himself honour at home
and abroad, and was the friend of Sir Philip Sidney and in favour at the
court of Queen Elizabeth, fell as deeply in love with the Rose when he
came home to rejoice over the return of Amyas as any young squire of
the county.
When the time came for him to set off again for London and for Amyas to
join the queen's forces in Ireland, where war was now raging, Frank and
Amyas concocted a scheme which was put into effect the next day--first
by the innkeeper of the Ship Tavern, who began, under Amyas's orders, a
bustle of roasting and boiling; and next by Amyas himself, who invited
as many of his old schoolfellows as Frank had pointed out to him to a
merry supper; by which crafty scheme in came each of Rose Salteme's
gentle admirers and found himself seated at the table with six rivals.
When the cloth was drawn, and sack and sugar became the order of the
day, and the queen's health had been duly drunk with all the honours,
Frank rose.
"And now, gentlemen, let me give you a health which none of you, I dare
say, will refuse to drink with heart and soul as well as with lips--the
health of one whom beauty and virtue have so ennobled that in their
light the shadow of lowly birth is unseen--the health of 'The Rose of
Torridge,' and a double health to that worthy gentleman, whosoever he
may be, whom she is fated to honour with her love."
Whereupon young Will Cary, of Clovelly Court, calls out, "Join hands all
round, and swear eternal friendship, as brothers of the sacred order of
the--of what, Frank Leigh?"
"The Rose!" said Frank, quietly.
And somehow or other, whether it was Frank's chivalrous speech, or
Cary's fun, or Amyas's good wine, or the nobleness which lies in every
young lad's heart, the whole party shook hands all round, and vowed on
the hilt of Amyas's sword to stand by each other and by their lady-love,
and neither grudge nor grumble, let her dance with, flirt with, or marry
with whom she would; and, in order that the honour of their peerless
dame and the brotherhood which was named after her might be spread
through all lands, they would go home, and ask their fathers' leave to
go abroad wheresoever there were "good wars."
Then Amyas, hearing a sneeze, made a dash at the arras behind him, and,
finding a doorway there, speedily returned, dragging out Mr. John
Brimblecombe, the stout, dark-skinned son of the schoolmaster.
Jack Brimblecombe, now one-and-twenty and a bachelor of Oxford, was in
person exceedingly like a pig; but he was a pig of self-helpful and
serene spirit, always, while watching for the best, contented with the
worst, and therefore fattening fast while other pigs' ribs stare through
their skins.
He had lingered in the passage, hovering around the fragrant smell; and,
once there he could not help hearing what passed inside, till Rose
Salterne's name fell on his ear. And now behold him brought in
red-handed to judgment, not without a kick or two from the wrathful foot
of Amyas Leigh.
"What business have I here?" said Jack, making answer fiercely, amid
much puffing and blowing. "As much as any of you. If you had asked me in
I would have come. You laugh at me because I'm a poor parson's son, and
you fine gentlemen. God made us both, I reckon. I tell you I've loved
her these three years as well as e'er a one of you, I have. Make me one
of your brotherhood, and see if I do not dare to suffer as much as any
of you! Let me but be your chaplain, and pray for your luck when you're
at the wars. If I do stay at home in a country curacy, 'tis not much
that you need be jealous of me with her, I reckon."
So, presently, after a certain mock ceremonial of initiation, Jack
Brimblecombe was declared, on the word of Frank Leigh, admitted to the
brotherhood, and was sent home with a pint of good red Alicant wine in
him, while the rest had a right merry evening. After which they all
departed--Amyas and Cary to Ireland, Frank to the court again. And so
the Brotherhood of the Rose was scattered, and Mistress Salterne was
left alone with her looking-glass.
_III.--The Good Ship Rose_
When Amyas was in Ireland he made captive a certain Spanish grandee, Don
Guzman, and sent him to Sir Richard Grenville to be held at ransom. And
then, the Irish being for the time subdued, Amyas sailed with Sir
Humphrey Gilbert on that ill-fated voyage to Newfoundland, and returned
in rags, landing at Plymouth, where he learnt news of Bideford.
Mrs. Hawkins, wife of John Hawkins the port admiral, gave him supper,
and then told him that the Spanish prisoner had "gone off, the villain."
"Without paying his ransom?"
"I can't say that, but there's a poor, innocent young maid gone off with
him, one Salterne's daughter."
"Rose Salterne, the mayor's daughter, the Rose of Torridge?"
"That's her. Bless your dear soul, what ails you?"
Amyas had dropped back in his seat as if he had been shot; but he
recovered himself, and next morning started for Bideford.
The story was true. Don Guzman had been made governor of La Guayra, in
the West Indies, and his ransom had been paid. But he had fallen in love
with the Rose, and the girl, driven, some said, by the over-harshness of
her father, who loved his daughter and knew not how to manage her, had
willingly escaped with him.
Amyas called on Salterne, and the old burgher besought him to go in
pursuit of the Spaniard, and promised he would spend any money that was
needed to fit out a ship to avenge his child. And Amyas heard that
honest John Brimblecombe, now a parson, mindful of his oath to the
brotherhood, was longing to seek the Rose, though it might be in the
jaws of death. Will Cary, too, was for a voyage to the Indies to cut the
throat of Don Guzman.
Then Mrs. Leigh and Frank, her first-born, getting permission to leave
the court, both consented to the voyage, and Frank would go too. Old
Salterne grumbled at any man save himself spending a penny on the
voyage, and forced on the adventurers a good ship of two hundred tons
burden, and five hundred pounds towards fitting her out; Mrs. Leigh
worked day and night at clothes and comforts of every kind; Amyas gave
his time and his brains. Cary went about beating up recruits; while John
Brimblecombe preached a fierce crusade against the Spaniards, and Frank
grew more and more proud of his brother.
Old Salvation Yeo, who was now in Bideford, again brought twenty good
men from Plymouth who had sailed with Drake.
And now November 15, 1583, has come, and the tall ship Rose, with a
hundred men on board, and food in abundance, has dropped down from
Bideford Quay to Appledore Pool. She is well-fitted with cannon and
muskets and swords, and all agreed so well-appointed a ship had never
sailed "out over Bar."
Mrs. Leigh went to the rocky knoll outside the churchyard wall and
watched the ship glide out between the yellow dunes, and lessen slowly
hour by hour into the boundless west, till her hull sank below the dim
horizon, and her white sails faded away into the grey Atlantic mist.
And the good ship Rose went westward ho! and came in due time to La
Guayra in the Indies, the highest cliff on earth, some seven thousand
feet of rock parted from the sea by a narrow strip of bright green
lowland. Amyas and his company are at last in full sight of the spot in
quest of which they have sailed four thousand miles of sea. Beyond the
town, two or three hundred feet up the steep mountain side, is a large
white house, with a royal flag of Spain flaunting before it. That must
be the governor's house; that must be the abode of the Rose of Torridge.
There are ships of war in the landing-place.
Amyas's plan was to wait till midnight, attack the town on the west,
plunder the government storehouses, and then fight their way back to
their boats. To reach the governor's house seemed impossible with the
small force at their disposal.
But Frank would not have their going away without doing the very thing
for which they came.
"I will go up to that house, Amyas, and speak with her!" he said.
Then Amyas, Cary, and Brimblecombe drew lots as to which of them should
accompany him, and the lot fell upon Amyas Leigh.
At midnight Amyas went on deck, and asked for six volunteers. Whosoever
would come should have double prize money.
"Why six only, captain?" said an old seaman. "Give the word, and any and
all of us will go up with you, sack the house, and bring off the
treasure and the lady before two hours are out!"
"No, no, my brave lads! As for treasure, it is sure to have been put all
safe into the forts; and, as for the lady, God forbid that we should
force her a step without her own will."
The boat with Frank, Amyas, and the six seamen reached the pebble beach.
There seemed no difficulty about finding the path to the house, so
bright was the moon. Leaving the men with the boat, they started up the
beach, with their swords only.
"She may expect us," whispered Frank. "She may have seen our ship, and
some secret sympathy will draw her down towards the sea to-night."
They found the path, which wound in zig-zags up the steep, rocky slope,
easily. It ended at a wicket-gate, and they found the gate was open when
they tried it.
"What is your plan?" said Amyas.
"I have none. I go where I am called--love's willing victim."
Amyas was at his wits' end. A light was burning in a window on the upper
story; twenty black figures lay sleeping on the terrace.
Frank saw the shadow of the Rose against the window. She came down, and
he made a wild appeal to her.
"Your conscience! Your religion--"
"No, never! I can face the chance of death, but not the loss of my
husband. Go! For God's sake leave me!"
Frank turned, and Amyas dragged him down the hill. Both were too proud
to run, but the whole gang of negroes were in pursuit, and stones were
flying.
They were not twenty-five yards from the boat, when the storm burst and
a volley of great quartz pebbles whistled round their heads. Frank is
struck, and Amyas takes him over his shoulders and plunges wildly on
towards the beach.
"Men, to the rescue!" Amyas shouts. "Fire, men! Give it the black
villains!"
The arquebuses crackled from the boat in front, but, balls are answering
from behind. The governor's guard have turned out, followed them to the
beach, and are firing over the negroes' heads.
Amyas is up to his knees in water, battered with stones, blinded with
blood; but Frank is still in his arms. Another heavy blow--confused mass
of negroes and English, foam and pebbles--a confused roar of shouts,
shots, curses, and he recollects no more.
He is lying in the stern-sheets of the boat, stiff and weak. Two men
only are left of the six, and Frank is not in the boat. With weary work
they made the ship, and as, the alarm being now given, it was hardly
safe to remain where they were, it was agreed to weigh anchor. Amyas had
no hope that Frank might still be alive. So ended that fatal venture of
mistaken chivalry.
_IV.--Amyas Comes Home for the Third Time_
More than three years have passed since the Rose sailed out from
Bideford, and never a word has reached England of what has befallen the
ship and her company.
Many have been the adventures of Amyas and the men who have followed
him. Treasure they have got in South America, and old Salvation Yeo has
found a young girl whom he had lost twelve years before, grown up wild
among the Indians. Ayacanora she is called, and she is white, for her
father was an Englishman and her mother Spanish, for all her savage
ways; and will not be separated from her discoverers, but insists on
going with them to England. And Amyas has learnt that his brother Frank
was burnt by order of the Inquisition, and with him Rose, and that Don
Guzman had resigned the governorship of La Guayra.
Amyas swore a dreadful oath before all his men when he was told of the
death of Frank and Rose, that as long as he had eyes to see a Spaniard
and hands to hew him down he would give no quarter to that accursed
nation, and that he would avenge all the innocent blood shed by them.
And now it is February, 1587, and Mrs. Leigh, grown grey and feeble in
step, is pacing up and down the terrace walk at Burrough. A flash is
seen in the fast darkening twilight, and then comes the thunder of a gun
at sea. Twenty minutes later, and a ship has turned up the Bideford
river, and a cheer goes up from her crew.
Yes, Amyas has come, and with him Will Cary and the honest parson, Jack
Brimblecombe, and the good seamen of Devon; and Ayacanora, who knelt
down obedient before Mrs. Leigh because she had seen Amyas kneel, and
whom Mrs. Leigh took by the hand and led to Bur-rough Court.
William Salterne would take none of his share of the treasure which was
brought home, and which he had a just claim to.
"The treasure is yours, sir," he said to Amyas. "I have enough, and more
than enough. And if I have a claim in law for aught, which I know not,
neither shall ever ask--why, if you are not too proud, accept that claim
as a plain burgher's thank-offering to you, sir, for a great and a noble
love which you and your brother have shown to one who, though I say it
to my shame, was not worthy thereof."
That night old Salterne was found dead, kneeling by his daughter's bed.
His will lay by him. Any money due to him as owner of the Rose, and a
new barque of 300 tons burden, he had bequeathed to Captain Amyas Leigh,
on condition that he should re-christen that barque the Vengeance, and
with her sail once more against the Spaniard.
In the summer of 1588 comes the great Armada, and Captain Leigh has the
Vengeance fitted out for war, and is in the English Channel. He has
found out that Don Guzman is on board the Santa Catherina, and is set on
taking his revenge.
For twelve months past this hatred of Don Guzman has been eating out his
heart, and now the hour has struck. But the Armada melts away in the
storms of the North Sea, and Captain Leigh has pursued the Santa
Catherina round the Orkneys and down to Lundy Island. And there, on the
rock called the Shutter, the Santa Catherina strikes, and then vanishes
for ever and ever.
"Shame!" cried Amyas, hurling his sword far into the sea, "to lose my
right, when it was in my very grasp!"
A crack which rent the sky, a bright world of flame, and then a blank of
utter darkness. The great proud sea captain has been struck blind by the
flash of lightning.
* * * * *
Once more Amyas Leigh has come home. His work is over, his hatred dead.
And Ayacanora will comfort him.
"Amyas, my son," said Mrs. Leigh, "fear not to take her to your heart,
for it is your mother who has laid her there!"
"It is true, after all," said Amyas to himself. "What God has joined
together, man cannot put asunder."
* * * * *