THE SAILOR.
Argument and persuasion were alike thrown away upon Netta Prothero. She
would make no promises, no concessions; she stood her ground with the
obstinacy of a Cadwallader. Her father stormed for about a week, when he
got tired of the subject and of Netta's resolute manner and cross face,
and gave it up. He heard that Howel had started for London, having put
his affairs in the hands of an attorney, and that it was not at all
unlikely that he would marry some lady of rank. He laughed heartily at
the notion. It was also rumoured that he meant to return and take a
place in the neighbourhood, stand for the county, and be one of the
greatest men in South Wales. In short, the enchanter, the merlin, the
open sesame, the omnipotent sorcerer _gold_ was to work the miracles to
which Howel had been so long looking forward. And the gossips were not
far wrong. Gold is truly a famous master-key to all hearts and to all
companies.
But whilst the gossips--and who is not a gossip in a country
neighbourhood?--whilst the gossips were settling Howel's future so
comfortably and respectably for him, he was dispensing his gold amongst
gamblers and the like--paying debts of honour as they are called.
However, Mr Prothero thought it not unlikely that what the gossips said
might prove true, and was therefore tolerably comfortable about his
spoilt pet, Netta. When his anger and her pouting had subsided, matters
went on much as usual for a time at the farm. Even the blaze that was
kindled at the incursion of the Irish girl, had well-nigh gone out, and
Mr Prothero had nearly forgotten her existence.
She, meanwhile, was slowly recovering under Mrs Prothero's kind care.
One day, that good woman was sitting with her in the little room that
had been allotted to her, and said,--
'Is there anything you could think of that would amuse you, my dear?'
'If I might--' Gladys began and paused.
'Pray, go on, do not be afraid to ask.'
'If I might only make up that cap for you, ma'am, I should be so proud.
I used to make caps at home.'
Mrs Prothero was manufacturing a cap for herself, and had a certain
womanly fear as to how it would turn out, if transferred to other
fingers; but she did not like to refuse the request, so she resigned it
into the thin hands of Gladys. She was almost immediately called away,
and did not return for some hours. When she again visited her invalid
she found her quite excited with her work that she had just completed.
'Oh, what a pretty cap!' said Mrs Prothero, quite astonished at the
taste displayed. 'I must just run and show it to Netta--I am so much
obliged to you.'
Mrs Prothero left the room and soon returned, followed by her daughter.
'Can you trim bonnets as well as make caps?' asked Netta, forgetful of
infection when her personal interest was involved.
'Yes, miss, a little,' replied Gladys modestly.
'I wish you would trim mine for me to-morrow.'
'Oh, thank you, miss! If you will only let me try I shall be so
grateful.'
'She does not seem like a beggar after all,' thought Netta. 'Who taught
you to work so nicely?' she said aloud.
'I was apprenticed to a mantua-maker and milliner for six months, miss,
and after that I worked for the neighbours.'
'How could you work for them, when they are all rags and tatters?'
'There were some farmers' wives, miss,' said Gladys, colouring slightly,
'and the clergyman's family, and the steward's--I used to work for
them.'
'Then how came you here?'
'People couldn't work, or pay for work, miss, when every one was
starvin' around them.'
Mrs Prothero looked at Netta reproachfully. The girl was not really
hard-hearted, so she changed the subject.
'I daresay you can knit and mark samplers?' she said.
'Yes, miss, mother taught us to do that at school.'
'I think, Netta,' interrupted Mrs Prothero, 'that she must go to bed
now. She looks tired, and has been up long enough.'
'What a fuss mother makes about the girl,' muttered Netta as she left
the room.
The following day the bonnet was tastily trimmed under Netta's
superintendence, and work enough hunted up to employ Gladys for a month
at least. Netta even found an old cotton gown, which she presented to
her in return for her labours. It was not long enough, but Gladys
thought she might be able to lengthen it.
Whilst her convalescence and Netta's needlework were thus progressing,
there was an arrival at the farm. One evening the family were assembled
in the large hall, their usual sitting-room. Mr Prothero was reading the
newspaper at a small round table, with an especial candle to himself.
His worthy wife was mending or making shirts. At another round table,
not very far off, Netta had some work in her hands, and one of Captain
Marryat's novels open before her.
'Why don't you do your work instead of reading those trashy stories,
Netta?' suddenly exclaimed Mr Prothero.
'I am working, father,' said Netta.
'Pretty working sure enough. What nonsense have you got reading now?'
'Peter Simple, father, oh it is so funny.'
'Ah! it was that stupid stuff, and 'The Pilot,' and 'The Spy,' and I
don't know what else, that sent Owen off to sea. I suppose it's there
you learn all your nonsense. I wish you would read the cookery book, and
help your mother to take care of the house and dairy, instead of doing
what's no good in the world.'
A loud knocking at the door interrupted a rather pert reply.
'Who on earth is that at this time of night?' exclaimed the farmer,
throwing down his paper.
'Shanno,' called Mrs Prothero into the passage, 'ask who it is before
you open the door.'
'It's no great things,' suggested Netta, 'for they're knocking with a
stick, and not with the knocker.'
'Name o' goodness, what's the row?' said the farmer.
'Who's there?' demanded Shanno, in the passage.
The answer did not reach the hall, but Shanno came rushing in, 'It's
them Irishers again, master, upon my deet, they do be here for ever.'
'Give me my stick!' exclaimed Mr Prothero, 'if I don't give them a
lesson my name isn't David.'
He seized a stick and went into the passage, followed by his wife,
murmuring, 'Oh, David, bach,' and by Netta as far as the door, from
which she peeped down the passage.
'Who's there?' roared the farmer in a voice of thunder.
'May it please yer honour, I'm cowld and hungry. Long life to yer honour
and her leddyship, if yell only give the loan o' yer barn, or maybe yer
loft, or--'
'I'll show you the way to my barn, you idle, good-for-nothing scamp,'
cried Mr Prothero, opening the door, and levelling a blow with his stick
into the moonlight, that must infallibly have knocked down any one less
agile than the man for whom it was intended. As it was, the unwelcome
visitor jumped aside, whilst the portly farmer tripped himself up by his
own impetuosity, and fell upon the threshold. Mrs Prothero and Netta
screamed, and Shanno took hold of the beggar's arm, to prevent his
escape. But the beggar had pulled Mr Prothero up, and was beginning to
sympathise with him in broad brogue, when that valiant anti-Irishman got
hold of his stick again, and began to belabour the unoffending party's
back most manfully.
'Enough's as good as a faist, yer honour,' cried the stranger, skipping
from side to side, and evading the blows very skilfully; 'pon my sowl,
yer honour 'ud do for a fair or a wake. 'Tis madam as has the heart an'
the conscience for the poor Irish, an' miss, too, asthore!'
The impudent fellow ran round to where Netta stood, who, in terror, went
into the house, followed by the man, and after him, the rest in full hue
and cry.
'Tin thousand pardons, miss,' said the man, taking off his hat and
confronting Netta.
'Owen! Owen!' screamed Netta. 'For shame upon you, you naughty boy,' and
therewith Netta and the unexpected guest were hugging one another, most
lovingly.
''Tis the mother will give the poor Irisher a lodgin' and a drop o' the
cratur,' cried that mother's well-beloved eldest born almost catching
her up in his arms, and smothering her with kisses. 'And the masther
isn't so hard-hearted as he looks,' he added, shaking the astonished
farmer by the hand.
'Owen! oughtn't you to be ashamed of yourself?' cried the farmer,
laughing aloud, and rubbing his right leg.
'Not kilt intirely, yer honour! didn't I take you all in, that's all!'
'Where did you come from? How did you come? When did you leave your
ship?' were the questions reiterated on all sides of the welcome guest.
'I'll tell you all that to-morrow. At present I am dying of cowld and
hunger, and haven't broke me fast since morning. Let me show you how the
locker stands.'
Owen emptied his pockets, and from a corner of one of them turned out a
solitary halfpenny.
'I shouldn't have had that if old Nanny Cwmgwyn hadn't given it to me
just now. But I'll tell you my story to-morrow in character.'
'Not an improved one anyhow,' said Mr Prothero with a gathering frown.
'Don't lecture to-night, Datta, bach; you shall have an hour on purpose
to-morrow, when I promise to listen to edification. 'Pon my word it is
pleasant to be at home again. How I long to sleep in my comfortable bed
once more.'
Poor Mrs Prothero's countenance fell, and Netta looked malicious.
'Not likely to sleep there to-night, boy,' said the farmer; 'mother has
got visitors.'
'Visitors!' exclaimed Owen, 'and gone to bed already! what sleepy
people.'
'Some of your friends of the cowld and hungry sort,' said the farmer.
'Not mother's old friends, and my relations, the Irish beggars?'
'Singular number, and a young lady!' said the farmer with a sneer and a
puff of the tobacco with which he was beginning to solace himself, at
the sight of the bread and cheese that were appearing.
'A poor girl, Owen, who was taken ill,' said Mrs Prothero.
'I understand it all, mother; never mind, she's welcome for once,
provided I get a good bed, but to-morrow she must turn out.'
'Very well, my dear,' said Mrs Prothero submissively; for Owen, though a
prodigal, was the eldest son, and generally had his own way.
'Now don't be frightened at my appetite,' said Owen, sitting down to
cold meat and strong ale.
'Bless you and your appetite,' said Mrs Prothero, kissing his forehead;
upon which he jumped up again, and hugged her with all his heart.
'Now, Netta, let us go and see about the sheets,' said Mrs Prothero,
smoothing her dress.
The mother and daughter left the room, and were not long in preparing
the best bedroom for Owen. This done, they hastened back to the hall,
where they found diminished ham and increased smoke, Owen having lighted
a short pipe, and taken to smoking with his father, over a large jug of
ale.
'We must have your adventures to-night, Owen,' cried Netta, as she
entered, 'and you must tell us why you came home so very shabby. I
suppose you have been wrecked on a desert island.'
'To be sure,' said Owen, laying down the pipe. 'But I must go out and
find my wardrobe, and all my valuables, that my hospitable Daddy there
caused me to throw down, when he gave me such a warm welcome.'
Owen disappeared, but soon returned with a box in his hands, apparently
of some weight, and a bundle slung across his shoulder, suspended on a
walking stick. Putting down the box he began to sing,--
'A handkerchief held all the treasure I had.'
whilst he flourished his walking-stick and bundle over his mother's
head. When he had finished his song, he put down his bundle and went to
the box.
'I have shown you the size of my wardrobe, now allow me to show off the
rest of my fortune and stock in trade. Father, you shall have the first
peep. Let me put my box on the table, and the light--so. Now, stoop,
so--look through that glass, so--and--have you got the right focus?
Yes!--To the right, you beholds the gallant 'ero, Lord Nelson, him as
lost his harm, a just fallin' in the harms of Capen 'Ardy and
Victory.--To the left--but first his lordship is a singin' "England
expects every man to do his dooty." To the left--'
'Well, if that isn't as pretty a picture and as much like life as
anything I ever saw,' said Mr Prothero, interrupting the showman. 'Come
here, mother; Netta, look here.'
Mrs Prothero glanced into the box, which was nothing more nor less than
a penny peep-show, and Owen began again.
'To the right you beholds,' when Netta, impatient, looked through a
second glass, and exclaimed in ecstasy, 'Where did you get this, Owen?'
In answer, the scene shifted, and Owen recommenced.
'Here you beholds Lisbon, that wast city, or rayther what wos Lisbon
after the great earthquake. See the ruins all around, and the women and
children a screamin'; and the priests a-prayin'--those men in robes is
priests, papishers, like them Irish beggars.'
'Hush, Owen,' interrupted Mrs Prothero. 'Look, father, do look here!'
While Mr Prothero and Netta gazed admiringly, Mrs Prothero was off and
returned with Shanno, Mal, and Tom the boy, who were all in a broad grin
of delight at the arrival of their prime favourite, Owen.
He, meanwhile, is in his element; begins with Lord Nelson again, and
makes the whole party take turns. Then he goes to Lisbon; afterwards he
has The Queen of the Cannibal Islands; The Great Fire of London; a
portrait large as life of the immense fat man Daniel Lambert, at sight
of which the servants all exclaim 'Ach!' and a variety of other splendid
designs, which we decline to enumerate. Suffice it to say that they all
draw forth the approving commendations of the spectators, from Mr
Prothero, master, to Tom, serving-lad.
When the peep-show has been duly exhibited, Netta again demands her
brother's history, and a particular account of how he procured the show.
'Oh! there is not much to tell,' says Owen, 'and I won't tell that
unless father promises to keep his lecture till to-morrow. I hate a
sermon late at night, but don't so much mind it in the morning. Don't
look so serious, mother; I don't mean a clerical preachment. Do you
promise, father?'
'Well, there, as you like,' said Mr Prothero, laughing? 'but I wish you
hadn't made me break my shin.'
'Here's a patch of diaculum, father. I hope you have not really hurt
yourself?'
'No, wild goose. Now, let's have the story.'
'Well, here goes. Since this time twelvemonth I have been a voyage to
Australia and back: seen Sydney and Botany Bay, and my brethren the
convicts; done a little in the mercantile way: speculated in gin and
'baccy on my own account, and helped the captain. Came home as first
mate of the 'Fair Weather,' and had enough of tailoring in the worst
voyage I ever made. We were almost wrecked more than once, and almost
starved for the last month, owing to the time the leaky old hulk took in
the voyage. When we landed in Plymouth we had a spree, as you may
suppose, and soon spent most of our money. I and a messmate were to
travel together as far as Swansea, so we just saved money enough to pay
our way, and enjoyed ourselves with the rest; but, as ill luck would
have it, we fell in with a poor Welsh woman, who had come to Plymouth in
the hope of meeting her husband, and being disappointed, and having
spent all her money, she didn't know how to get back to her home again.
Of course we couldn't leave a fellow-countrywoman in distress, so we
gave her what we had: enough to pay her journey home, and a few
shillings over. We then sold some of our clothes, and stumbling upon a
man with this old box in his arms, we bargained with him, and bought it
for twelve shillings. He wanted a pound, but we beat him down.
'Having thus a fortune in our possession we set out with our peep-show,
and thought of getting interest for our money. We have been about three
weeks journeying from place to place; and I assure you we have seen a
good deal of life. We unfortunately spent the interest of our fortune as
it came in; but, as you will perceive, I have brought the whole capital
home with me. When we entered a town on a fair or market-day, we made a
great deal of money, but then the temptations to spend were all the
greater. I used to have all the labour of the imagination, for my friend
Jack Jenkins had not the gift of eloquence; so we agreed that I should
be showman, and he porter--a division of work that we thought quite
fair. When we arrived at Swansea I gave him all the money we had in
hand, and he resigned the peep-show to me, and so we parted company; he
to go to his friends in Glamorganshire, I to come on here.
'I had a rare lark on my way home. I went to uncle's, and finding aunt
in the garden, slouched my hat over my face, and began my story. She
ordered me off the premises instantly as a vagrant. I went round to the
back door and got a penny a-piece from the servants, who were quite
delighted. Then I met uncle, and telling him that I had a wonderful box
of antiques to exhibit, he gave me sixpence, and with great curiosity
poked his proboscis against the glass. It was worth something to see
him. I at once put a picture of Stonehenge, and afterwards one of
Herculaneum into the box, that I had bought on purpose for his benefit.
I went through the history of the Druids, and managed a touch of Garn
Goch and the Welsh castles with a strong and masterly nasal, that so
delighted the worthy vicar, that he actually invited me in to see his
museum. I excused myself by saying that my wife was waiting for
me--mother, that was my only fib, I assure you--and hastened away, lest
in his delight at finding an itinerant archaeologist, he should ask my
wife to see his museum as well. The rest of my adventures you had the
honour and glory of sharing, so I must beg to say they are at an end.
And now I am really and truly and soberly come to settle at home for the
remainder of my days, and to become a farmer in good earnest if father
will take me into partnership. The two things I like best in the world
are, the rolling sea by moonlight and a field of golden corn in broad
sunshine, of a fine day in autumn.'
'Oh, you naughty boy!' cried Netta, as Owen ended his story.
'A fine sturdy farmer you would make,' said Mr Prothero, trying to
stifle a very hearty fit of laughter, that burst out at last in spite of
himself. 'I'm glad you took in brother Jonathan, or he'd have had the
laugh against me.'
Mrs Prothero had a tear in her eye as she smiled sadly, and shook her
head at the darling son who had caused her nothing but love and grief
since he was born; but the tear was soon kissed away, and the smile
turned into a cheerful one by that son's merry lips.