Necessity is the mother of invention. This is undoubtedly true, but it
is equally true that invention is not the only member of necessity's
large family. Change of scene and circumstance are also among her
children. It was necessity that gave birth to the resolve to travel to
the end of the earth--of English earth at all events--in search of
fortune, which swelled the bosom of yonder tall, well-favoured youth,
who, seated uncomfortably on the top of that clumsy public conveyance,
drives up Market-Jew Street in the ancient town of Penzance. Yes,
necessity--stern necessity, as she is sometimes called--drove that youth
into Cornwall, and thus was the originating cause of that wonderful
series of events which ultimately led to his attaining--but hold! Let
us begin at the beginning.
It was a beautiful morning in June, in that period of the world's
history which is ambiguously styled "Once-upon-a-time," when the
"Kittereen"--the clumsy vehicle above referred to--rumbled up to the
Star Inn and stopped there. The tall, well-favoured youth leapt at once
to the ground, and entered the inn with the air of a man who owned at
least the half of the county, although his much-worn grey shooting
costume and single unpretentious portmanteau did not indicate either
unusual wealth or exalted station.
In an off-hand hearty way, he announced to landlord, waiters,
chambermaids, and hangers-on, to all, indeed, who might choose to
listen, that the weather was glorious, that coaches of all kinds,
especially Kittereens, were detestable machines of torture, and that he
meant to perform the remainder of his journey on foot.
He inquired the way to the town of St. Just, ordered his luggage to be
forwarded by coach or cart, and, with nothing but a stout oaken cudgel
to encumber him, set out on his walk of about seven miles, with the
determination of compensating himself for previous hours of forced
inaction and constraint by ignoring roads and crossing the country like
an Irish fox-hunter.
Acting on the presumptuous belief that he could find his way to any part
of the world with the smallest amount of direction, he naturally missed
the right road at the outset, and instead of taking the road to St.
Just, pursued that which leads to the Land's End.
The youth, as we have observed, was well-favoured. Tall,
broad-shouldered, deep-chested, and athletic, with an active step, erect
gait, and clear laughing eye, he was one whom a recruiting-sergeant in
the Guards would have looked upon with a covetous sigh. Smooth fair
cheeks and chin told that boyhood was scarce out of sight behind, and an
undeniable _some thing_ on the upper lip declared that manhood was not
far in advance.
Like most people in what may be termed an uncertain stage of existence,
our hero exhibited a variety of apparent contradictions. His great size
and muscular strength and deep bass voice were those of a man, while the
smooth skin, the soft curling hair, and the rollicking gladsome look
were all indicative of the boy. His countenance, too, might have
perplexed a fortune-teller. Sometimes it was grave almost to sternness,
at other times it sparkled with delight, exhibiting now an expression
that would have befitted a sage on whose decisions hung the fate of
kingdoms, and anon displaying a dash of mischief worthy of the wildest
boy in a village school.
Some of the youth's varied, not to say extravagant, actions and
expressions, were perhaps due to the exhilarating brilliancy of the
morning, or to the appearance of those splendid castles which his mind
was actively engaged in building in the air.
The country through which he travelled was at first varied with trees
and bushes clothed in rich foliage; but soon its aspect changed, and ere
long he pursued a path which led over a wide extent of wild moorland
covered with purple heath and gorse in golden-yellow bloom. The ground,
too, became so rough that the youth was fain to confine himself to the
highroad; but being of an explorative disposition, he quickly diverged
into the lanes, which in that part of Cornwall were, and still are,
sufficiently serpentine and intricate to mislead a more experienced
traveller. It soon began to dawn upon the youth's mind that he was
wandering in a wrong direction, and when he suddenly discovered a
solitary cottage on the right hand, which he had previously observed on
the left, he made up his mind to sacrifice his independence and
condescend to ask for guidance.
Lightly leaping a wall with this intent, he crossed two fields, and
stooped as he looked in at the low doorway of the cottage, from the
interior of which there issued the loud cries of a child either in great
pain or passion.
A sturdy little boy seated on a stool, and roaring like a young bull,
while an elderly woman tried to comfort him, was the sight which met his
gaze.
"Can you show me the road to St. Just?" inquired our adventurer.
"St. Just, sur?" said the woman, stepping out in front of the door,
"why, you're on the way to St. Buryan, sure. Ef you do keep on the
right of the hill over theere, you'll see the St. Just road."
A yell of unparalleled ferocity issued at this moment from the cottage,
and it was found that the noisy urchin within, overcome by curiosity,
had risen to ascertain who the stranger outside could be, and had been
arrested by a pang of agony.
"Aw dear, aw dear, my poor booy," exclaimed the woman, endeavouring
gently to press the boy down again on the stool, amid furious roaring.
"What's wrong with him?" asked our traveller, entering the apartment.
"He's tumbled off the wall, dear booy, an' semen to me he's scat un
shoulder very bad."
"Let me have a look at him," said the youth, sitting down on the edge of
a bed which stood at one end of the room, and drawing the child between
his knees. "Come, little man, don't shout so loud; I'll put it all
right for you. Let me feel your shoulder."
To judge from the immediate result, the young man seemed to put it all
wrong instead of "all right," for his somewhat rough manipulation of the
boy's shoulder produced such a torrent of screams that the pitying woman
had much ado to restrain herself from rushing to the rescue.
"Ah!" exclaimed the youth in grey, releasing his victim; "I thought so;
he has broken his collar-bone, my good woman; not a serious matter, by
any means, but it will worry him for some time to come. Have you got
anything to make a bandage of?"
"Sur?" said the woman.
"Have you a bit of rag--an old shirt or apron?--anything will do."
The woman promptly produced a cotton shirt, which the youth tore up into
long strips. Making a pad of one of these, he placed it under the boy's
arm-pit despite of sobs and resistance. This pad acted as a fulcrum on
which the arm rested as a lever. Pressing the elbow close to the boy's
side he thus forced the shoulder outwards, and, with his left hand, set
the bone with its two broken ends together. To secure it in this
position he bound the arm pretty firmly to the boy's body, so that he
could not move a muscle of the left arm or shoulder.
"There," said the youth, assisting his patient to put on his shirt,
"that will keep all straight. You must not on any account remove the
bandage for some weeks."
"How long, sur?" exclaimed the woman in surprise.
"For some weeks; but that will depend on how the little fellow gets on.
He may go about and use his right arm as he pleases, but no more
climbing on walls for some time to come. Do you hear, little man?"
The urchin, whose pain was somewhat relieved, and who had moderated down
to an occasional deep sob, said "Iss."
"You're a doctor, sur, I think?" said the woman.
"Yes, I am; and I'll come to see you again, so be careful to attend to
my directions. Good-morning."
"Good mornin', sur, an' thank 'ee!" exclaimed the grateful dame as the
youth left the house, and, leaping the low enclosure in front of it,
sped over the moor in the direction which had been pointed out to him.
His resolution to ignore roads cost our traveller more trouble than he
had anticipated, for the moor was very rugged, the brambles vexatious,
and the spines of the gorse uncommonly sharp. Impediments of every kind
were more numerous than he had been accustomed to meet with even on the
heath-clad hills of Scotland, with which--although "the land of the
mountain and the flood" was not that of his birth--he had from childhood
been familiar.
After a good deal of vigorous leaping and resolute scrambling, he
reached one of those peculiar Cornish lanes which are so deeply sunk in
the ground, and edged with such high solid walls, that the wayfarer
cannot in many places see the nature of the country through which he is
passing. The point at which he reached the lane was so overgrown with
gorse and brambles that it was necessary to search for a passage through
them. This not being readily found, he gave way to the impetuosity of
his disposition, stepped back a few paces, cleared the obstacles with a
light bound, and alighted on the edge of the bank, which gave way under
his weight, and he descended into the lane in a shower of stones and
dust, landing on his feet more by chance than by dexterity.
A shout of indignation greeted the traveller, and, turning abruptly
round, he beheld a stout old gentleman stamping with rage, covered from
head to foot with dust, and sputtering out epithets of opprobrium on the
hapless wight who had thus unintentionally bespattered him.
"Ugh! hah! you young jackanapes--you blind dumbledory--ugh! What mean
you by galloping over the country thus like a wild ass--eh?"
A fit of coughing here interrupted the choleric old gentleman, in the
midst of which our hero, with much humility of demeanour, many
apologies, and protestations of innocence of intention to injure, picked
up the old gentleman's hat, assisted him to brush his clothes with a
bunch of ferns, and in various other ways sought to pacify him.
The old man grumbled a good deal at first, but was finally so far
mollified as to say less testily, while he put on his hat, "I warrant
me, young man, you are come on some wild-goose chase to this
out-o'-the-way region of the land in search of the picturesque--eh?--a
dauber on canvas?"
"No, sir," replied the youth, "I profess not to wield the pencil or
brush, although I admit to having made feeble efforts as an amateur.
The scalpel is more to my taste, and my object in coming here is to
visit a relative. I am on my way to St. Just; but, having wandered
somewhat out of my road, have been obliged to strike into bypaths, as
you see."
"As I _see_, young man!--yes, and as I _feel_," replied the old
gentleman, with some remains of asperity.
"I have already expressed regret for the mischance that has befallen
you," said the youth in grey somewhat sternly, for his impulsive spirit
fired a little at the continued ill-humour of the old gentleman.
"Perhaps you will return good for evil by pointing out the way to St.
Just. May I venture to ask this favour of you?"
"You may venture, and you _have_ ventured; and it is my belief, young
man, that you'll venture many a thing before this world has done with
you; however, as you are a stranger in these parts, and have expressed
due penitence for your misdeed, though I more than half doubt your
sincerity, I can do no less than point out the road to St. Just, whither
I will accompany you at least part of the way; and, young sir, as you
have taken pretty free liberty with _me_ this morning, may I take the
liberty of asking _you_ the name of your relative in St. Just? I am
well acquainted with most of the inhabitants of that town."
"Certainly," replied the youth. "The gentleman whom I am going to visit
is my uncle. His name is Donnithorne."
"What! Tom Donnithorne?" exclaimed the old gentleman, in a tone of
surprise, as he darted a keen glance from under his bushy eyebrows at
his companion. "Hah! then from that fact I gather that you are Oliver
Trembath, the young doctor whom he has been expecting the last day or
two. H'm--so old Tom Donnithorne is your uncle, is he?"
The youth in grey did not relish the free and easy, not to say
patronising, tone of his companion, and felt inclined to give a sharp
answer, but he restrained his feelings and replied,--"He is, and you are
correct in your supposition regarding myself. Do you happen to know my
uncle personally?"
"Know him personally!" cried the old gentleman with a sardonic laugh;
"Oh yes, I know him intimately--intimately; some people say he's a very
good fellow."
"I am glad to hear that, for to say truth--"
He paused abruptly.
"Ha! I suppose you were going to say that you have heard a different
account of him--eh?"
"Well, I _was_ going to observe," replied Oliver, with a laugh, "that my
uncle is rather a wild man for his years--addicted to smuggling, I am
told, and somewhat given to the bottle; but it is well known that
tattlers give false reports, and I am delighted to hear that the old boy
is not such a bad fellow after all."
"Humph!" ejaculated the other. "Then you have never seen him, I
suppose?"
"No, never; although I am a Cornishman I have seen little of my native
county, having left it when a little boy--before my uncle came to live
in this part of the country."
"H'm--well, young man, I would advise you to beware of that same uncle
of yours."
"How!" exclaimed the youth in surprise; "did you not tell me just now
that he is a very good fellow?"
"No, sir, I did not. I told you that _some_ people say he is a very
good fellow, but for myself I think him an uncommonly bad man, a man who
has done me great injury in his day--"
"It grieves me to hear you say so," interrupted Oliver, whose ire was
again roused by the tone and manner of his companion.
"A decidedly bad man," continued the old gentleman, not noticing the
interruption, "a thorough rascal, a smuggler, and a drunkard, and--"
"Hold, sir!" cried the youth sternly, as he stopped and faced the old
gentleman, "remember that you speak of my relative. Had you been a
younger man, sir--"
Again the youth paused abruptly.
"Go on, sir," said the old gentleman ironically, "you would have
pommelled me to a jelly with your cudgel, I suppose; is that it?--acting
somewhat in the spirit of your kinsman, that same smuggling and tippling
old scoundrel, who--"
"Enough, sir," interrupted the young man angrily; "we part company
here."
So saying, he vaulted over the wall that separated the road from the
moor, and hurried away.
"Take the first turn to the left, and keep straight on, else you'll lose
yourself aga-a-a-in," roared the old gentleman, "and my compliments to
the rascally old smugg-le-e-r-r!"
"The old scoundrel!" muttered the youth as he hurried away.
"The young puppy!" growled the old gentleman as he jogged along. "Given
to smuggling and the bottle indeed--humph! the excitable jackanapes!
But I've given him a turn in the wrong direction that will cool his
blood somewhat, and give me leisure to cool mine too, before we meet
again."
Here the old gentleman's red countenance relaxed into a broad grin, and
he chuckled a good deal, in the midst of a running commentary on the
conduct and appearance of his late companion, from the disjointed
sentences of which it might have been gathered that although his
introduction to the young doctor had been unfortunate, and the
succeeding intercourse stormy, his opinion of him was not altogether
unfavourable.