THE FINGER OF GOD.
The heavy rain had ceased in the night. The sky was clear, the eaves and
trees had forgotten to drip, the mist was lifting from the mountain-top
and from the surcharged river, when, after a succession of profitable
calls, between nine and ten o'clock in the morning, master and man rode
up the rugged ascent to Brookside Farm, and, dismounting, the former
walked into the house with insolent assumption, and, finding only Mrs.
Edwards there, demanded rudely--
'Is the half-year's rent ready?' Of course, that was his first care.
'There do be no rent owing, sir.'
'What do you mean, woman?'
'I mean that you have been paid, and overpaid, and I do not be going to
pay you one brass farthing.'
He grew livid, set his teeth, and looked as if he would have struck her
to the ground.
'We'll see about that. You had due notice to quit. You have stayed on
the farm in defiance of the law, and now, by'--(and he swore a great
oath)--'you shall turn out without stick or stock. Morgan,' over his
shoulder to the man, 'call up the other men. We will soon see who is
master here. I seize in his lordship's name.'
'And _I_ forbid in his lordship's name,' said Mr. Morris, whose shadow
in the doorway had been mistaken for the man Morgan's.
Mr. Pryse recoiled. Mr. Morris was no stranger to him; and no friend of
his, he well knew. What brought him there, or the vicar, close at his
heels?
'By what right do _you_ presume to interfere?' he asked boldly.
'By _this_, sir,' unfolding a letter. 'I presume you know his lordship's
hand and seal. _You_ were not the only one for whom the courier had a
despatch yesterday.'
Mr. Pryse seemed to shrink within his clothes. A greenish hue overspread
the yellow of his skin. A clammy dew burst out upon his forehead. Had he
spurned the skipper's sage advice only to come here for this? It was
maddening to think of.
He attempted to brazen it out, as a last resource.
'I am acting in his lordship's interest, sir. He has been shamelessly
misinformed. These people have not paid more than a fair rental. And
they never had a lease.'
'What do you be calling _that_, sir?' And Rhys pressing to the front,
held up the lease--at a safe distance, for Mr. Pryse appeared ready to
spring upon it like a wild cat.
'And now, sir,' said Mr. Morris sternly, 'you will have to disgorge.
Those are his lordship's orders. You see we hold a quittance for half a
year's rent. Evan, bring forward the receipt.'
Had a ghost risen from the grave to confront him, Mr. Pryse could not
have looked more aghast or terror-stricken, when Evan stepped from
behind into the light, with the faded receipt in his hand.
Baffled, defeated, confronted, as it were, by the dead.
Mr. Pryse shrieked aloud, fell on his knees, covering his eyes with his
quivering hands.
'You here?--_you?_ I fancied you had gone down with the _Osprey_.'
'You hear him, gentlemen? You hear him? He do be owning his share in
kidnapping me! No, you smuggling old rogue, when the _Osprey_ went all
to pieces on the rocks at the Land's End with its drunken crew and
cargo--I, yes indeed _I_, gentlemen, who had been dragged on board bound
like a thief--I did be the only one saved. I had been sent up aloft to
punish me because I would not join the wicked crew, and when the mast
did go overboard, I held on for my very life. I did be picked up the
next day by an outward-bound East Indiaman, when there was little life
left in me. But I wasn't to be drowned till I'd settled scores with this
old villain here, that did send me adrift with rogues like himself, and
to rob the widow blackened my honest name.
'No, Mr. Pryse, though I've been sailing the seas all these sorrowful
years in one craft or other, cuffed, kicked, half-starved, used worse
than a dog, and never able to make my way back to my sweetheart or
home, if it had not been for another shipwreck I'd never have been here
now. A Liverpool trader took me and two shipmates off a raft in the
middle of the ocean, when we was half-mad with hunger and thirst, and
the good captain, God bless him, sent me on shore at Fishguard, to make
my way home to my sweetheart as quick as I could. And I didn't have to
beg my way, for I had got money hid under my belt. And I do be thanking
God sirs, for bringing me here in time to confound this wicked old
shivering coward. I do be feeling as if I could shake every bone out of
his ugly skin, but Ales bids me leave him to God and his master.'
''Deed, he deserves kicking from the top of the hill to the bottom,'
thrust in fiery William.
Not a word had the detected steward spoken, but his features and his
lean fingers worked vindictively, as if longing to grasp the speakers'
throats.
All at once he shrieked out--
'That receipt's a forgery, a vile forgery. Look at it, gentlemen. That
paper has never been in salt water. Ugh! How could a common sailor keep
a bit of paper unworn and dry for six years, and through two shipwrecks?
It is absurd.'
Gaining courage from his own sneering suggestion, Mr. Pryse rose to his
feet, little expecting the answer which came from William.
''Deed, no, sirs. Neither our receipt, nor Owen Griffith's here, nor
Evan's own money ever went nearer the sea than old Breint's saddle. He
had made a private pocket under the lining, and there they did be
waiting for him, yes, sure.'
'It's well they did, for those thieves on the _Osprey_ did be stripping
me of all I had,' put in Evan.
And now, Mr. Morris declaring the receipts genuine, insisted on Mr.
Pryse there and then refunding the extra rent extorted year by year from
Mrs. Edwards, giving a quittance up to date on account of the receipt.
But Mr. Pryse had recovered courage--and craft. He began to bluster.
Refused to acknowledge the authority of either Mr. Morris or the vicar.
He was answerable to his lordship. To him only would he render an
account. He would bid them good-morning.
'Well, sir,' said Mr. Morris, 'I cannot enforce his lordship's commands
without legal warrant. But had I known all I have heard since I came
hither, I should have come provided with a warrant for your arrest, Mr.
Pryse. And I warn you the reckoning will come sooner than you expect.'
Much sooner!
He walked out of the farmhouse with head erect and defiant, as if he had
won a victory. He bade Morgan pay his myrmidons and follow; then rode
down hill baffled, but not wholly defeated. He had not disgorged a
penny, had added other rents as he came along to the hoard he was
carrying away. Warrant, indeed! He would soon be beyond reach of
warrants!
'Nay,' he shouted back with a snarl, 'threatened men live long;' but
before he reached the level, some sense of ungratified revenge must have
stung him, for he put spurs to his horse, and dashed on, splashing
through the swollen brook, and turning the corner to the ford--not the
high-road--as if pursued by a troop of demons.
Blinded by his own evil passions, exulting in his escape, yet alarmed by
the sound of hoofs behind him, he spurred his horse to the uncertain
ford in the same hot haste, seeing nothing but his own need to cross.
[Illustration: BLINDED BY PASSION, HE SPURRED HIS HORSE TO THE UNCERTAIN
FORD.--_See page 271._]
His follower heard a shriek, but reached the river's brink only in time
to see a swirling mass of something far down the rain-filled river.
Mr. Pryse had gone to meet the _Cambria's_ boat in other fashion than he
contemplated.
His spurs entangled in the stirrups, his pockets and saddle-bags
weighted with ill-gotten coin, horse and man had gone together.
A Welshman in a coracle[13] called out to the ferryman at Taff's Well
Ferry, and he to the _Cambria's_ men rowing up-stream, and amongst them
they got a panting, struggling, half-dead horse ashore, to find what
_had_ been Mr. Pryse _underneath_, clutching at the turned saddle and
bags with the grip that never relaxes--the grip of death.
Cover him over. Let the Preventive-service men, chasing the other boat,
fight with pistol and cutlass for the possession of the dead, his gold,
and his incriminating papers, whilst the smart Preventive cutter in the
bay boards the short-handed _Cambria_, and tows her confiscated prize
into port, the dead man's strong box included. Little recks the drowned
man what becomes of his hoard. He has gone to his final reckoning with a
Lord he had forgotten, a Lord no man can cheat or deceive.
Intelligence of his retributive death comes to the rejoicing family at
the farm with a sobering shock, but nobody affects to lament. And all
over his lordship's wide domain, oppressed men breathe freer for this
one man's death.
'Man deliberates, but God delivers,' is said with bated breath by more
than sententious Ales, whilst Mrs. Edwards insists that his death is a
judgment for his strictures on her lost husband.
And whilst the unhonoured remains of the fraudulent agent are committed
to the earth, in Cardiff, with no mourner but his housekeeper, the vicar
of Eglwysilan reads out the banns once more for Evan and Ales, and for
Rhys Edwards and Cate Griffiths also.
Great is the bustle of preparation. There is money in possession and
hope in the future.
There is no need to ask for contributions at the 'bidding,' though the
invited guests are many.
The new room William built is being fitted up with somewhat more regard
to health and decency than has been common hitherto. Cate is bringing to
her bridegroom more than had been looked for--dowlas sheets and
blankets, spun and woven under their own cottage roof, and a good flock
bed and pillows from the same source. Then she had not been idle, and if
under-_linen_ was not worn in those days in that humid climate, she had
a fair supply of flannel, and of linsey-woolsey for gowns and aprons,
all of her own spinning. Ay, and she had stockings knitted ready to
assume with her new dignity.
The cottage at Castella has long been occupied by other tenants. Mr.
Morris offers Evan a small farm between Caerphilly and Cardiff, on very
easy terms. The goods he had bought and paid for have been sold, but
fresh are furnished readily; and Robert Jones generously conveys the
long-hoarded household goods of Ales to her new home, without fee or
guerdon, and, with them, a winter store of peat and culm as a wedding
gift.
Both at Owen's cottage and the farm the women are busy as bees, baking
and boiling for the wedding feast, for which Thomas Williams sets up
long plank tables in the meadow that slopes to the foot of the hill, the
break-neck ascent to the farm being a consideration on such an occasion.
For the brides are supposed unwilling to be wed, or their friends to
part with them, and there is racing and chasing to recover the runaway
brides, and mock contests to obtain possession of them, in which the
mountain ponies play their parts well. Then, the brides being captured,
there is the headlong race to the church, which bodes ill to any unwary
pedestrian they may meet. It is a remnant of old barbaric custom not to
be dispensed with, and all the youths and maidens, far and wide, join in
the race. Scarcely less noisy is the return, when the ceremony is over,
and each bride is mounted behind her husband, Rhys and Cate taking the
precedence.
Be sure they bring appetites to the feast, where huge joints of boiled
beef are matched by piles of smoking potatoes and turnips, the
brown-jacketed esculents being as yet dainties to the multitude. Then
there are great pitchers of _cwrw da_ and buttermilk for thirsty
throats. And if there be a deficiency of glass and cutlery, according to
our notions, all is as it should be to the feasters, who are to the
manner born, and not fastidious, and who fling their contributions to
the feast into the earthen bowls with right goodwill.
Something much more important gave grace to the festive occasion, and
that was the presence of a Welsh harper, one of the decaying race of
bards, who sang them songs of Arthur and Llewellyn, and twanged his harp
for lively dances on the greensward when the boards were cleared, and
might be held accountable for more than one match decided that day.
Certainly Thomas Williams obtained Jonet's shy promise to marry him in
the spring if her mother would consent; and even Davy struck up an
acquaintance with the niece of Robert Jones, that was likely to lead to
something more in the end.
It was quite an exceptional gathering, for not a drop of rain fell the
whole day to mar the entertainment, and, short though it was, a good
round frosty moon offered its shining lamp to light the middle-aged
couple and their escort to their new home beyond Caerphilly, and to make
even the crossing of the Taff safe to the contingent from the mountains
beyond. All had 'gone merry as a marriage bell.'
And here my story might be supposed to end; but for my hero--and I count
William Edwards a hero--a new era was about to dawn.
I have indicated that mines of coal and iron were being worked in
Glamorganshire, but that the want of roads and bridges for conveyance
and communication retarded the development of its untold mineral
resources. Then, the hard nature of the coal already dug unfitted it,
except as culm, for household use or smelting purposes in such furnaces
as existed, where the fuel was principally charcoal.
But about this time experiments were being made to test its utility, and
Mr. John Morris, who for years had gone geologising among the mountains,
was one of the first to suggest its feasibility. He had made experiments
on a small scale, but Mr. Pryse had thrown impediments in the way of
smelting on a larger basis in the neighbourhood of Cardiff, where the
river and the sea were close for conveyance if his scheme succeeded.
'It was too near the Castle. His lordship would have no reeking furnaces
so close to his residence. There was no land for sale,' etc. etc.
Mr. Morris was not to be put down by Mr. Pryse. He had applied, not to
the old Viscount, but to his son and heir, who was not hoodwinked by Mr.
Pryse, and cordially seconded the proposal. The old Viscount was even
then on his deathbed. The succession of the new one, shortly after Mr.
Pryse was committed to his narrow cell, left Mr. Morris free to act.
The day before the double wedding he explained his views to William
Edwards, and made to him a proposition.
So it happened that, whilst Rhys and the rest were making merry, William
was half the time lost in thought, and one or other rallied him on his
unsociability, as they considered it.
_He_ was simply considering his ability to undertake the erection of the
smelting furnaces John Morris had in view. He had not much doubt of his
own power to accomplish anything any other man could do, or had done, if
the opportunity to study what had been previously done was afforded him.
But here something was required differing from aught that had gone
before, or with which he was acquainted.
Mr. Morris had given him time for mature deliberation. He had great
faith in the capacity of the self-taught genius, and still more in his
indomitable determination to overcome difficulties.
Yet books he had none that would afford the information he needed. He
had done what he could to supply the defects of his education, thanks to
the vicar. But he was still 'Cymro uniaith,' a Welshman of one language;
and, though the literature of Wales certainly dates back to the twelfth
century, and is said to date back to the sixth, its ancient legends,
ballads, and poems would not instruct him how to build furnaces which
should convert the hard Welsh coal into the smelter's slave.
If there were English books on the subject, he was ignorant, and could
not have read them had such been laid before him.
He was not given to waste his time in unprofitable regrets.
Before any one else was astir he was on the road northward to Merthyr
Tydvil, bent on examining the process of iron-smelting as there carried
on. The name of John Morris procured him ready admission to the works.
But, although they had been in existence for a couple of centuries, and
the ancient forests had been denuded of their giant oaks to supply their
furnaces, they had as yet no furnace that would fuse the ore with coal
alone, and the oak trees were growing scarce.
William came away shaking his head, and muttering as he strode along:
'Sure, if those be their smelting furnaces, there do be one as good at
the Castle. They do be wanting a stronger blast if they employ coal. It
will be a job to construct furnaces that will burn the stone-coal Mr.
Morris be saying gives such great heat with neither flame nor smoke. But
I'm bound to have a try what I can be doing. Sure, I'm not willing to
give in without a try, look you!'
And in this frame of mind he returned home to make calculations and
sketches, and to think out the matter, walking to and fro in front of
the house, with his head bent down and his hands behind him.
'Idling,' his mother called it. Rhys had grown wiser.
''Deed, mother, Willem do be having his "thinks." Best be leaving him
alone.'
'But he do not even be knitting, look you!'
'Never mind, mother _fach_; he do be "studdying," as he do call it. We
work with our hands; Willem do work with his head--yes, yes.'
The following day he was away again, much to his mother's discomfort, as
his silent and wandering mood had always been.
If she had followed, she might have tracked him to his old storehouse of
knowledge, Caerphilly Castle, and far down a crumbling flight of stone
steps to a curious vault below the level of the moat, and, beneath that
marvel of marvels, the reft, overhanging tower.
He had gathered, by inquiry from the vicar and others, that here had
anciently been a furnace for the smelting of metals for coinage and
other purposes; and that it was supposed to have been employed, during a
siege, for melting lead to pour from the battlements upon the besiegers;
and, further, that either the besiegers or some traitor within contrived
to let in a jet of water from the moat upon the molten metal, causing
the terrific explosion which rent the tower from top to bottom, and left
the strongly-built half hanging eleven feet out of the perpendicular, as
a testimony to future ages.
But it was not of battles or sieges William was thinking, unless it
might be his own conflict with a difficulty. He was there to examine the
ancient furnace, with no one to talk or interrupt, and to found his own
theories thereupon.
In a very short time Mr. Morris had his answer.
'Yes, sir, I think I can undertake your work.'
It was a bold undertaking for a farmer's son, self-taught, and only
twenty years of age.
FOOTNOTE:
[13] An oval wicker boat covered with hide, with only a single seat, as
used by the ancient Britons, and by the Welsh far into the present
century.