It was late when our hero entered the little town of St. Just, and
inquired for the residence of his uncle, Thomas Donnithorne. He was
directed to one of the most respectable of the group of old houses that
stood close to the venerable parish church from which St. Just derives
its title of "Church-town."
He tapped at the door, which was opened by an elderly female.
"Does Mr Thomas Donnithorne live here?" asked Oliver.
"Iss, sur, he do," answered the woman; "walk in, sur."
She ushered him into a small parlour, in which was seated a pretty,
little, dark-eyed, rosy-cheeked girl, still in, or only just out of, her
teens. Oliver was so taken aback by the unexpected sight that he stood
gazing for a moment or two in rather stupid silence.
"Your name is Oliver Trembath, I presume," said the girl, rising and
laying down the piece of needlework with which she was occupied.
"It is," replied Oliver, in some surprise, as he blundered out an
apology for his rudeness.
"Pray sit down, sir," said the girl; "we have been expecting you for
some time, and my uncle told me to act the part of hostess till his
return."
"Your uncle!" exclaimed Oliver, whose self-possession, not to say
impudence, returned immediately; "if Thomas Donnithorne be indeed your
uncle, then, fair maid, you and I must needs be cousins, the which, I
confess, fills me with satisfaction and also with somewhat of surprise,
for up to this hour I have been ignorant of my good fortune in being
related to so--so--"
"I made a mistake, sir," said the girl, interrupting a speech which was
evidently verging towards impropriety, "in calling Mr Donnithorne uncle
to you, who are not aware, it seems, that I am only an adopted niece."
"Not aware of it! Of course not," said Oliver, throwing himself into a
large armchair, while his fair companion busied herself in spreading the
board for a substantial meal. "I could not be aware of much that has
occurred in this distant part of the kingdom, seeing that my worthy
uncle has vouchsafed to write me only two letters in the course of my
life; once, many years ago, to condole with me--in about ten lines,
address and signature included--on the death of my dear mother; and once
again to tell me he had procured an appointment for me as
assistant-surgeon in the mining district of St. Just. He must have been
equally uncommunicative to my mother, for she never mentioned your
existence. However, since I have now made the agreeable discovery, I
trust that you will dispense with ceremony, and allow me at once to call
you cousin. By the way, you have not yet told me your name."
The maiden, who was charmingly unsophisticated, replied that her name
was Rose Ellis, and that she had no objection whatever to being called
cousin without delay.
"Well, cousin Rose," said Oliver, "if it be not prying into secrets, I
should like to know how long it is since my uncle adopted you."
"About nineteen years ago," replied Rose.
"Oh!" said Oliver remonstratively, "before you were born? impossible!"
Rose laughed--a short, clear, little laugh which she nipped in the bud
abruptly, and replied--
"Well, it was only a short time after I was born. I was wrecked on this
coast"--the expressive face here became very grave--"and all on board
our ship perished except myself."
Oliver saw at once that he had touched on a tender subject, and hastened
to change it by asking a number of questions about his uncle, from which
he gradually diverged to the recent events in his own history, which he
began to relate with much animation. His companion was greatly
interested and amused. She laughed often and heartily in a melodious
undertone, and Oliver liked her laugh, for it was peculiar, and had the
effect of displaying a double row of pretty little teeth, and of almost
entirely shutting up her eyes. She seemed to enjoy a laugh so much that
he exerted all his powers to tickle her risible faculties, and dwelt
long and graphically on his meeting with the irascible old gentleman in
the lane. He was still busy with this part of the discourse when a
heavy step was heard outside.
"There's my uncle," exclaimed Rose, springing up.
A moment after the door opened, and in walked the identical irascible
old gentleman himself!
If a petrified impersonation of astonishment had been a possibility,
Oliver Trembath would, on that occasion, have presented the phenomenon.
He sat, or rather lay, extended for at least half a minute with his eyes
wide and his mouth partly open, bereft alike of the powers of speech and
motion.
"Heyday, young man!" exclaimed the old gentleman, planting his sturdy
frame in the middle of the floor as if he meant then and there to demand
and exact an ample apology, or to inflict condign and terrible
chastisement, for past misdeeds; "you appear to be making yourself quite
at home--eh?"
"My _dear_ sir!" exclaimed Oliver, leaping up with a look of dismay;
"how can I express my--my--but is it, _can_ it be possible that you are
Mr Donnithorne--m-my--uncle?"
Oliver's expression, and the look of amazement on the countenance of
Rose Ellis, who could not account for such a strange reception of her
newly-found cousin, proved almost too much for the old gentleman, whose
eyes had already begun to twinkle.
"Ay, young man, I am Tom Donnithorne, your uncle, the vile, old,
smuggling, brandy-loving rascal, who met his respectful nephew on the
road to St. Just"--at this point Rose suddenly pressed her hand over her
mouth, darted to her own apartment in a distant corner of the house, and
there, seated on her little bed, went into what is not inaptly styled
fits of laughter--"and who now," continued the old gentleman, relaxing
into a genial smile, and grasping his nephew's hand, "welcomes Oliver
Trembath to his house, with all his heart and soul; there, who will say
after that, that old Donnithorne does not know how to return good for
evil?"
"But, my dear uncle," began Oliver, "allow me to explain--"
"Now, now, look at that--kept me hours too late for supper already, and
he's going to take up more time with explanations," cried the old
gentleman, flinging himself on the chair from which Oliver had risen,
and wiping his bald pate with a red silk handkerchief. "What can you
explain, boy, except that you met an angry old fellow in a lane who
called your uncle such hard names that you couldn't help giving him a
bit of your mind--there, there, sit down, sit down.--Hallo!" he shouted,
starting up impulsively and thrusting his head into the passage, "Rose,
Rose, I say, where are you?--hallo!"
"Coming, uncle--I'm here."
The words came back like an echo, and in another minute Rose appeared
with a much-flushed countenance.
"Come along, lass, let's have supper without delay. Where is aunty?
Rout her out, and tell that jade of a cook that if she don't dish up in
five minutes I'll--I'll--. Well, Oliver, talking of explanations, how
comes it that you are so late?"
"Because I took the wrong road after leaving you in the lane," replied
the youth, with a significant glance at his uncle, whose eyes were at
the moment fixed gravely on the ground.
"The wrong road--eh?" said Mr Donnithorne, looking up with a sly
glance, and then laughing. "Well, well, it was only _quid pro quo_,
boy; you put a good deal of unnecessary earth and stones over my head,
so I thought it was but fair that I should put a good deal more of the
same under your feet, besides giving you the advantage of seeing the
Land's End, which, of course, every youth of intelligence must take a
deep interest in beholding. But, sure, a walk thither, and thence to
St. Just, could not have detained you so long?"
"Truly no," replied Oliver; "I had a rencontre--a sort of adventure with
fishermen, which--"
"Fishermen!" exclaimed Mr Donnithorne in surprise; "are ye sure they
were not smugglers--eh?"
"They said they were fishermen, and they looked like such," replied
Oliver; "but my adventure with them, whatever they were, was the cause
of my detention, and I can only express my grief that the circumstance
has incommoded your household, but, you see, it took some time to beat
off the boat's crew, and then I had to examine a wound and extract--"
"What say you, boy!" exclaimed Mr Donnithorne, frowning, "beat off a
boat's crew--examine a wound! Why, Rose, Molly, come hither. Here we
have a young gallant who hath begun life in the far west in good style;
but hold, here comes my excellent friend Captain Dan, who is no friend
to the smugglers; he is to sup with us to-night; so we will repress our
curiosity till after supper. Let me introduce you, Oliver to my wife,
your Aunt Molly, or, if you choose to be respectful, Aunt Mary."
As he spoke, a fat, fair, motherly-looking lady of about five-and-forty
entered the room, greeting her husband with a rebuke, and her nephew
with a smile.
"Never mind him, Oliver," said the good lady; "he is a vile old
creature. I have heard all about your meeting with him this forenoon,
and only wish I had been there to see it."
"Listen to that now, Captain Dan," cried Mr Donnithorne, as the
individual addressed entered the room; "my wife calls me--me, a staid,
sober man of fifty-five--calls me a vile old creature. Is it not too
bad? really one gets no credit nowadays for devoting oneself entirely to
one's better half; but I forget: allow me to introduce you to my nephew,
Oliver Trembath, just come from one of the Northern Universities to
fight the smugglers of St. Just--of which more anon. Oliver, Captain
Hoskin of Botallack, better known as Captain Dan. Now, sit down and
let's have a bit of supper."
With hospitable urgency Mr Donnithorne and his good dame pressed their
guests to do justice to the fare set before them, and, during the course
of the meal, the former kept up a running fire of question, comment, and
reply on every conceivable subject, so that his auditors required to do
little more than eat and listen. After supper, however, and when
tumblers and glasses were being put down, he gave the others an
opportunity of leading the conversation.
"Now, Oliver," he said, "fill your glass and let us hear your
adventures. What will you have--brandy, gin, or rum? My friend,
Captain Dan here, is one of those remarkable men who don't drink
anything stronger than ginger-beer. Of course you won't join _him_."
"Thank you," said Oliver. "If you will allow me, I will join your good
lady in a glass of wine. Permit me, Aunt Mary, to fill--"
"No, I thank you, Oliver," said Mrs Donnithorne good-humouredly but
firmly, "I side with Captain Dan; but I'll be glad to see you fill your
own."
"Ha!" exclaimed Mr Donnithorne, "Molly's sure to side with the opponent
of her lawful lord, no matter who or what he be. Fill your own glass,
boy, with what you like--cold water, an it please you--and let us drink
the good old Cornish toast, `Fish, tin, and copper,' our three staples,
Oliver--the bone, muscle, and fat of the county."
"Fish, tin, and copper," echoed Captain Dan.
"In good sooth," continued Mr Donnithorne, "I have often thought of
turning teetotaller myself, but feared to do so lest my wife should take
to drinking, just out of opposition. However, let that pass--and now,
Oliver, open thy mouth, lad, and relate those surprising adventures of
which you have given me a hint."
"Indeed, uncle, I do not say they are very surprising, although,
doubtless, somewhat new to one who has been bred, if not born, in
comparatively quiet regions of the earth."
Here Oliver related circumstantially to his wondering auditors the
events which befell him after the time when he left his uncle in the
lane--being interrupted only with an occasional exclamation--until he
reached the part when he knocked down the man who had rescued him from
the waves, when Mr Donnithorne interrupted him with an uncontrollable
burst.
"Ha!" shouted the old gentleman; "what! knocked down the man who saved
your life, nephew? Fie, fie! But you have not told us his name yet.
What was it?"
"His comrades called him Jim, as I have said; and I think that he once
referred to himself as Jim Cuttance, or something like that."
"What say you, boy?" exclaimed Mr Donnithorne, pushing back his chair
and gazing at his nephew in amazement. "Hast fought side by side with
Jim Cuttance, and then knocked him down?"
"Indeed I have," said Oliver, not quite sure whether his uncle regarded
him as a hero or a fool.
The roar of laughter which his answer drew from Captain Dan and his
uncle did not tend to enlighten him much.
"Oh! Oliver, Oliver," said the old gentleman, on recovering some degree
of composure, "you should have lived in the days of good King Arthur,
and been one of the Knights of the Round Table. Knocked down Jim
Cuttance! What think'ee, Captain Dan?"
"I think," said the captain, still chuckling quietly, "that the less our
friend says about the matter the better for himself."
"Why so?" inquired Oliver quickly.
"Because," replied his uncle, with some return of gravity, "you have
assisted one of the most notorious smugglers that ever lived, to fight
his Majesty's coastguard--that's all. What say you, Molly--shall we
convict Oliver on his own confession?"
The good lady thus appealed to admitted that it was a serious matter,
but urged that as Oliver did the thing in ignorance and out of
gratitude, he ought to be forgiven.
"_I_ think he ought to be forgiven for having knocked down Jim
Cuttance," said Captain Dan.
"Is he then so notorious?" asked Oliver.
"Why, he is the most daring smuggler on the coast," replied Captain Dan,
"and has given the preventive men more trouble than all the others put
together. In fact, he is a man who deserves to be hanged, and will
probably come to his proper end ere long, if not shot in a brawl
beforehand."
"I fear he stands some chance of it now," said Mr Donnithorne, with a
sigh, "for he has been talking of erecting a battery near his den at
Prussia Cove, and openly defying the Government men."
"You seem to differ from Captain Dan, uncle, in reference to this man,"
said Oliver, with a smile.
"Truly, I do, for although I condemn smuggling,--ahem!" (the old
gentleman cast a peculiar glance at the captain), "I don't like to see a
sturdy man hanged or shot--and Jim Cuttance is a stout fellow. I
question much whether you could find his match, Captain Dan, amongst all
your men?"
"That I could, easily," said the captain with a quiet smile.
"Pardon me, captain," said Oliver, "my uncle has not yet informed me on
the point. May I ask what corps you belong to?"
"To a sturdy corps of tough lads," answered the captain, with another of
his quiet smiles--"men who have smelt powder, most of 'em, since they
were little boys--live on the battlefield, I may say, almost night and
day--spring more mines in a year than all the soldiers in the world put
together--and shorten their lives by the stern labour they undergo; but
they burn powder to raise, not to waste, metal. Their uniform is red,
too, though not quite so red, nor yet so elegant, as that of the men in
his Majesty's service. I am one of the underground captains, sir, of
Botallack mine."
Captain Dan's colour heightened a very little, and the tones of his
voice became a little more powerful as he concluded this reply; but
there was no other indication that the enthusiastic soul of one of the
"captains" of the most celebrated mine in Cornwall was moved. Oliver
felt, however, the contact with a kindred spirit, and, expressing much
interest in the mines, proceeded to ask many questions of the captain,
who, nothing loath, answered all his queries, and explained to him that
he was one of the "captains," or "agents," whose duty it was to
superintend the men and the works below the surface--hence the title of
"underground;" while those who super-intended the works above ground
were styled "grass, or surface captains." He also made an appointment
to conduct the young doctor underground, and go over the mine with him
at an early date.
While the party in old Mr Donnithorne's dwelling were thus enjoying
themselves, a great storm was gathering, and two events, very different
from each other in character, were taking place--the one quiet, and
apparently unimportant, the other tremendous and fatal--both bearing on
and seriously influencing the subjects of our tale.