Our story is now bound to follow; in the footsteps of Matt, who, in
quitting the presence of her artist-friend, walked rapidly along the
sand-encumbered road in the direction of the sea.
Skirting the lake upon the left hand, and still having the ocean
of sand-hills upon her right, she gradually slackened her pace. A
spectator, had he been by, would have doubtless observed that the change
was owing to maiden meditation; that, in other words, Matt had fallen
into a brown study.
Presently she sat down upon a convenient stone, or piece of rock, and,
resting her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hands, looked for some
minutes at vacancy. At last she rose, flushing warmly, and murmuring
something to herself.
The something was to this effect:
“His hands are as white as a lady’s when he pulls off them gloves, and
he said I was as pretty as my picture.”
I can only guess at the train of reasoning which led to this soliloquy,
and express my opinion that Matt had well-developed ideas on the subject
of the sexes. True, she was not above sixteen, and had little or
no experience of men, none at all of men who were both young and
good-looking. Nevertheless, she was not insensible to the charms of a
white hand, and other tokens of masculine refinement and beauty.
By a natural sequence of ideas she was led to stretch out her own right
hand and look at it critically. It was very brown, and covered with huge
golden freckles. The inspection not being altogether satisfactory she
thrust both her hands irritably into the pockets of her jacket, and
walked on.
Leaving the lake behind her, she followed the road along a swampy
hollow, down which the very shallowest of rivulets crept along to
the sea, now losing itself altogether in mossy patches of suspicious
greenness, again emerging and trickling with feeble glimmers over pebble
and sand. Presently she left the road and came upon a primitive wooden
bridge, consisting of only one plank, supported on two cairns of stone.
Here she paused, and, seeing a red-legged sand-piper running about
on the edge of the water just below her, made a gesture like a boy’s
throwing a stone, whereon the sand-piper sprang up chirping, and flew
along out of sight.
By this time she was in full sight of the sea. Dead calm, and covered
with rain-coloured shadows, it touched the edges of the flat sands about
a mile away, and left one long creamy line of changeless foam.
The sands themselves stretched away to the westward far as eye could
see. But to the left and eastward, that is to say, in the direction
towards which she was going, there was a long rocky promontory with
signs of human habitation. Breaking into a swing-like trot, Matt
hastened thither, following a footpath across marshy fields.
In due time she came out upon a narrow and rudely made road which wound
along the rocky promontory, at low water skirting the sand, at high
water, the sea. The first house she reached was a wooden lifeboat house,
lying down in a creek; and it being then low tide, at some distance from
the water’s edge. On the roadside above the house was a flagstaff, and
beneath the flagstaff a wooden seat. All was very still and desolate,
without a sign of life; but a little further along-the road was a row
of cottages which seemed inhabited, and were, in fact, the abodes of the
coastguard. Instead of lingering here Matt proceeded on her way until
she reached, what, at first sight, looked like the beginning of a
village, or small town. There were houses on each side of the road, some
of them several stories high; but close inspection showed that most of
them were roofless, that few of them possessed any windows or doors, and
that nearly all were decayed and dilapidated from long disuse, while not
a few had a blasted and sinister appearance, as if blackened by fire.
And still there was no sign of any human soul. Suddenly, however,
the street came to an end, and Matt found herself on a sort of rocky
platform overlooking the sea; and on this platform, shading his eyes
from the blazing sun, and looking out seaward, was a solitary man.
So intent was he on his occupation that he was unconscious of Matt’s
approach till she was standing by his side. He turned his eyes upon her
for a moment, and then once more gazed out to sea.
A short, plump, thickset man, with a round, weather-beaten face,
which would have been good-humoured but for its expression of extreme
watchfulness and greed. The eyes were blue, but very small and keen; the
forehead low and narrow; the hair coarse and sandy; the beard coarser
and sandier still. He might have been about fifty years of age. His
dress was curious: consisting of a yellow sou’-wester, a pair of
seaman’s coarse canvas trousers, and a blue pilot jacket, ornamented
with brass buttons which bore the insignia of Her Majesty’s naval
service.
Presently, without turning his eyes again from the far distance, the man
spoke in a husky, far-away whisper:--
“Matt, do you see summat out yonder?” Matt strained her gaze through the
dazzling sunlight, but failed to discern any object on the light expanse
of water.
“Look ye now,” continued the man; “it may be drifting weed, or it may be
wreck; but it’s summat. Look again.”
“Summat black, William Jones?”
“Yes. Coming and going. Now it comes, and it’s black; now it goes, and
the water looks white where it was. If it isn’t wreck, it’s weed; if
it ain’t weed, it’s wreck. And the tide’s flowing, and it’ll go ashore
afore night at the Caldron Point, if I wait for it. But I shan’t wait,”
he added eagerly. “I’ll go and overhaul it now.”
He looked round suspiciously, and then said, “Matt, did you see any of
them coastguard chaps as you come along?”
“No, William Jones.”
“Thought not. They’re up Pencroes way, fooling about; so there’s a
chance for a honest man to look arter his living without no questioning.
You come along with me, and if it _is_ summat, I’ll gie thee tuppence
some o’ these fine days.”
As he turned to go, his eye fell for the first time on her attire.
“What’s this, Matt? What are you doing in your Sunday clothes?”
The girl was at a loss how to reply. She blushed scarlet and hung down
her head. Fortunately for her the man was too absorbed in his main
object of thought to catechize her further. He only shook his fat head
in severe disapprobation, and led the way down to a small creek in the
rocks, where a rough coble was rocking, secured by a rusty chain.
“Jump in and take the paddles. I’ll sit astarn and keep watch.”
The girl obeyed and leapt in; but before sitting down she tucked up her
dress to her knees to avoid the dirty water in the bottom of the boat.
William Jones followed, and pushed off with his hands. Calm as the water
was there was a heavy shoreward swell, on which they were immediately
uplifted with some danger of being swept back on the rocks; but Matt
handled the paddles like one to the manner born, and the boat shot out
swiftly on the shining sea.
The sun was burning with almost insufferable brightness, and the light
blazed on the golden mirror of the water with blinding refracted rays.
Crouching in the stern of the boat, William Jones shaded his eyes with
both hands, and gazed intently on the object he had discovered far out
to sea. Now and then he made a rapid motion to guide the girl in her
rowing, but he did not speak a word.
Oh, how hot it was out there on the sun-scorched waves! For some time
Matt pulled on in silence, but at last she could bear it no longer,
and rested on her oars, with the warm perspiration streaming down her
freekled cheeks.’
“Pull away, Matt,” said the man, not looking at her. “You ain’t tired,
not you!”
With a long-drawn breath Matt drew in the oars, and swift as thought
peeled off her jacket and threw off her hat, leaving her head exposed to
the burning sun.
Now the silk gown she wore had evidently been used by its original owner
as a festal raiment, for it had been cut low, and had short sleeves.
So Matt’s shoulders and arms were perfectly bare, and very white they
looked in contrast with her sun-freckled hands, her sunburnt face, and
her warm brown neck. Her bust was as yet undeveloped, but her neck and
shoulders were fine, and her arms beautifully moulded. Altogether,
her friend the painter, could he have seen her just then, would have
regarded her with increasing admiration.
Freed from the encumbrance of her jacket, she now pulled away with easy
grace and skill. Further and further the boat receded from shore,
till the promontory they had left was a couple of miles away. Suddenly
William Jones made a sign to the girl to stop, and stood up in the boat
to reconnoitre.
The object at which he had been gazing so long was now clearly visible.
It consisted of something black, floating on a glassy stretch of
water, and surrounded by fragments of loose scum or foam; it was to all
appearance motionless, but was in reality drifting wearily shoreward on
the flowing tide.
William Jones now evinced increasing excitement, and urged his companion
to hurry quickly forward--which she did, putting out all her strength
in a series of rapid and powerful strokes. Another quarter of an hour
brought them to the spot where the object was floating. Trembling with
eagerness, the man leant over the boat’s side with outstretched hands.
As he did so Matt turned her head away with a curious gesture of dread.
“What is it, William Jones?” she asked, not looking at him. “It
isn’t--you know--one o’ _them?_”
“No, it ain’t!” replied the man, leaning over the side of the coble, and
tilting the gunwale almost to the water’s edge; “Too early for _them_,
Matt. If they comes, it won’t be till Sunday’s tide. They’re down at the
bottom now, and ain’t yet rose. Easy! Lean t’other way! So there--look
out!”
As he spoke he struggled with something in the water, and at last, with
an effort which almost capsized the boat, pulled it in. Matt looked now,
and saw that it was a small flat wooden trunk, covered with pieces of
slimy weed. Floating near it were several pieces of splintered wood
which seemed to have formed part of a boat. These, too, William secured,
and threw down on the foot-board beneath him.
“It’s a box, that’s what it is,” cried Matt.
“It’s a box, surely,” said Jones. “And it’s locked, too. And look ye
now. I misdoubt there’s nowt inside, or mayhap it would have sunk,
Howsomever, we’ll see!”
After an unavailing effort to force it open with his hands, he drew
forth a large clasp-knife, worked away at the lock, and tried to force
open the lid, which soon yielded to his efforts, as the action of the
salt water had already begun to rot the wood. On being thus opened, the
box was found to contain only a couple of coarse linen shirts, an old
newspaper, two or three biscuits, and half a bottle of some dark fluid.
After examining these articles one by one, William Jones threw them back
into the box with gestures of disgust, retaining only the bottle, which
he uncorked and applied to his lips.
“Rum!” he said, smacking his lips and nodding at Matt. Then re-corking
the bottle carefully he returned it to the box, and standing up,
reconnoitred the sea on every side. But nothing else rewarded his eager
search; he threw himself down in the stem of the boat, and ordered Matt
to pull back to shore.
As they went he closed one eye thoughtfully, and mused aloud: “Night
afore last it blew half a gale from the south’ard. This here box came
awash from the east coast of Ireland. Maybe it was a big ship as was
lost; them planks was part of a wessel’s long boat. More’s coming if
the wind don’t come up from the norrard. The moon’s full to-night and
to-morrow. I’ll tell the old ’un, and keep a sharp, look-out off the
Caldron Pint.”
Matt rowed on steadily till they came within a quarter of a mile of the
shore, when William Jones stood up again and reconnoitred the prospect
inland.
“Pull in, Matt!” he said, after a minute. “All’s square!”
Soon afterwards the boat reached the rocks.. William Jones sprang out,
and running up to the platform above, took another survey. This being
satisfactory, he ran down again and lifted the box out of the boat,
carrying it with ease under one arm.
“Make the boat fast,” he said in a husky whisper, “and bring them bits
o’ wood along with you for the fire. I’ll cut on to the cottage with
this here. It ain’t much, but it’s summat; so I’ll carry it clean out o’
sight before them precious coastguards come smelling about.”
With these words he clambered up the rocks with his burthen, leaving
Matt to follow leisurely in his wake.