"A merry Christmas!" cried Dick, going into his parents' bedroom early
in the morning.
"Thank'ee, my boy," said the Squire. "'Twill be the last Christmas we
shall spend within these walls, so we will be as merry as we can....
Bless my life! Who is that singing?"
Through the open door came the sound of a clear young voice:
"I saw three ships come sailin' in
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day;
I saw three ships come sailin' in
On Christmas Day in the mornin'."
"'Tis Susan, sir, no doubt," replied Dick.
"Dear me, I had forgotten the maid. Well, 'tis a sweet voice. She is
merry enough, poor soul."
"A very nice girl," said Mrs. Trevanion. "Listen!"
"And what was in those ships all three,
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day?
And what was in those ships----"
The singing was interrupted by a rippling peal of laughter.
"Oh, Sam, you'll be the death o' me!" said Maidy Susan. "If you could
only see the face of 'ee."
"What be purticler about the face o' me?" asked Sam.
"Oh, I can't tell 'ee, only it do make me smile. What was ye thinkin'
of?"
"Why, I was wishin' one o' they ships was Maister's--his ship come home,
as folks do say."
"Silly boy! 'Twas thousands o' years ago:
"And what was in those ships all three,
On Christmas Day in the mornin'?"
"Well, I never heerd that psalm afore. Troll it over to Pendry afore
church; he've got a wonderful ear, and if ye sing it twice he'll play it
on his fiddle bang through wi'out stoppin'. Maybe Pa'son will command
us to sing it instead of 'Aaron's Beard' or 'Now Isr'el say.'"
"I can't go to church, Sam. I must stay and help Cook."
"No; be-jowned if 'ee do. Old Feyther be man enough to help Cook, wi'
sech a little small pudden and all. If we'd only knowed ye were comin'
we'd ha' made it bigger, cost what it might. But you shall have my
share, Maidy, so don't be cast down in yer soul."
"Bless the boy! Do 'ee think I can't live wi'out pudden?"
"Well, then, if that be yer mind, I'll eat the pudden, and you hev two
servings o' pig--but not too much apple sauce, Maidy."
"Good now! You do talk and talk, and there's the boots to clean and the
cloth to lay. We'll never be done. Be off with 'ee."
The voices ceased.
"A very nice girl," repeated Mrs. Trevanion with a sigh. "I wish we
could keep her. She would have a good influence on Sam, who is inclined
to be idle."
Dick smiled.
"When my ship comes home, my dear," said the Squire. "Upon my word,
'tis cheering to hear a song in the morning, and the sun shining, too.
I think the fire yesterday has burnt some of my melancholy away."
After breakfast they walked over to the church. The people assembled in
the churchyard bobbed and curtsied as the party from the Towers passed
up the path, and wished them a merry Christmas, a sign of renewed
friendliness which made the Squire glow with pleasure. There was a
large congregation, and everybody expected that the Vicar would preach a
sermon bearing on the events of the previous day. He had indeed looked
out two old discourses, one on the text, "The wages of sin is death,"
the other on "The ways of transgressors are hard"; but he replaced them
in his drawer, and selected a third, on the verse, "Peace on earth,
goodwill towards men."
"I won't spoil the day for them," he said to himself; "but they shall
not get off; they shall have something warming next Sunday." The worthy
man did not foresee that next Sunday the church would be half empty, the
people having concluded that he had found the iniquities of John
Trevanion an unprofitable theme.
After church the young folks trooped into the barn, where a Christmas
dinner had been spread for them, and the men flocked down to the
village, to spend an hour while their wives prepared the meal. For the
first time in the history of the parish they passed by the open door of
the Five Pilchards and made their way to the Three Jolly Mariners, to
the delight of the innkeeper and the amazement of its few _habitues_.
In the afternoon someone suggested that they should row out to the
fairway to see the rock which Dick had thrown down. The oldsters, after
their Christmas dinner, were disinclined to move; but Jake Tonkin, Ike
Pendry, and others of the younger generation hailed the opportunity of
stretching their legs, and a procession of boats rowed out to the spot.
The sun, by this time creeping to the west, lit up the face of the cliff
with a ruddy gleam, and a young miner, perched on the top of the rock,
called the attention of the others to the appearance of curious streaks
on the rugged surface of the promontory, where the falling rock had
struck off fragments as it bounded down.
"They look uncommon like silver," said he.
"'Tis the deceivin' sun," said Jake Tonkin. "Theer bean't neither silver
nor tin worth delvin' for hereabouts."
"Maybe, but I be goin' to see," said the miner. "Gie me that boat-hook,
my sonny."
He got into a boat, and was rowed to the base of the cliff, whence he
climbed with careful step. The others watched him with more interest in
his feat than in the object of it. On reaching one of the longest of
the streaks he hacked at the rock with the hook, then suddenly looked
round, and cried--
"Daze me, my sonnies, if it bean't as good silver tin ore as ever I
seed. There's riches here, take my word for't."
"Be-jowned if I bean't fust to tell Squire," cried Jake Tonkin,
instantly pulling his boat round and making for the shore. The others
followed him, deaf to the entreaties of the miner to come back and take
him off. Half-a-dozen boats raced madly to the beach; a score of youths
sprang out, dashed through the village, up the hill, and along the high
road. One, thinking to gain an advantage over the rest, tried to leap
one of John Trevanion's fences, and fell headlong to the ground, his
competitors shouting with laughter, none attempting to emulate him.
Jabez Mail, the son of Simon, arrived first at the Towers, but Ike
Pendry, only a yard behind, caught him by the tail of his Sunday coat,
and while the two were wrestling, Jake Tonkin slipped past them and
rushed into the house without knocking. Remembering the situation of
the Squire's room from his last visit, he ran straight to it, followed
by a dozen others, some entering with him, others crowding at the door.
Within the room sat the Squire and Dick, with the Vicar, Mr. Mildmay,
and Mr. Polwhele, smoking before a huge log fire. They had started up
at the sound of heavy boots clattering along the passage, and stood in
amazement as the young fishers, red and blown with running, clumped in.
"What do you mean by this?" exclaimed the Squire testily. "D'you think
this is an inn?"
Jake, the foremost, was at once overcome by his habitual sheepishness,
and stood as though glued to the floor, twisting his hat between his
hands, and grinning vacantly. Ike Pendry thrust him aside.
"Please, sir, I be come----" he began.
"Scrounch 'ee, I was fust!" cried Jake, suddenly recovering his speech,
and sticking his elbow into Ike's ribs.
"Now, now," said Mr. Carlyon severely, "this is very unmannerly
behaviour. What do you mean by it?"
"Please, yer reverence," said Ike, "theer be great and noble riches
down-along at Beal. We be come with all our legs to tell Squire."
"I was fust," added Jake.
"You're a liard," said young Mail, thrusting his way to the front. "I
was fust, only Ike Pendry catched me by the tail o' my coat, which he
couldn' ha' done if 'twere a common day."
"Well, then, Jabez," said the Vicar, "as you seem to have best command
of your breath, perhaps you will tell us the meaning of these antics."
"Iss, fay, that I woll," said the lad. "We pulled out to the Beal, to
see wi' our own eyes the rock as Maister Dick tumbled down, and Tim
Solly, the miner, says, says he, 'Be-jowned, my sonnies, if it bean't
the noblest silver tin as ever I seed.' 'Twas the rock, yer reverence,
and genelum all, had strook away the ground as covered it, and theer
'tis, bidin' to be dug out."
The Squire's face, as he listened to this, flushed and paled by turns.
"This is most extraordinary," said the Vicar. "I think we had better
all go down to the Beal and see for ourselves."
"We will," said Mr. Polwhele. "Come along, Squire."
"'Tis pure fancy," murmured the Squire. "The ore would have been
discovered long ago if it existed. My old mine comes within a few yards
of the Beal."
"We can but see," said Mr. Mildmay. "Let us go at once, before the sun
is down."
They hurried forth, the messengers following, Sam being now among them.
As they went, the crowd was increased by many more of the villagers, who
had poured out of their houses when they heard of the stampede. In a
few minutes they reached the Beal, at the spot where the fallen rock had
stood.
"Hi!" shouted a voice from below; "up or down, I don't care which it be,
but I can't bide here all the cold night."
"Don't 'ee werrit, my son," said Tonkin, who had joined the throng.
"Fling up a mossel o' that shinin' rock they tell about."
"Mind yer head, then, my dear, or 'twill hurt 'ee."
Up came a jagged knob of rock, which Tonkin deftly caught and handed to
the Squire. A breathless silence fell on the crowd as he turned it over
in his trembling hands. He passed it to Mr. Polwhele, and he in turn to
the foreman of Trevanion's mine, who stood by.
"'Tis tin ore, gentlemen, without doubt," he said, "and, I think, very
rich in metal. You will do well, sir, to bring an assayer to test it."
His words were received with a joyous shout. Caps were flung into the
air; a hundred lusty throats roared cheers for the Squire. Mr. Carlyon
grasped his old friend's hand.
"'Hold fast the rock by the western sea!'" he said. "Wonderful!
Wonderful!"
"Let us keep our heads," said the Squire. "It may be a false hope."
"Hi!" shouted the miner. "When be I a-comin' up-along?"
"Never, my son," cried Tonkin. "We can't heave 'ee up wi'out doin' a
deal o' damage to yer mortal frame. Bide quiet, and we'll fetch 'ee in
a boat."
"I'll never disbelieve in witches again," said the Vicar. "Dick! Where
is the boy? 'Twas an inspiration--upon my word it was."
Dick was not to be found. He was running like a deer to tell his mother
the great news. Sam followed, hopelessly outstripped, eager to pour the
story into the ears of Maidy Susan. The Squire and his friends returned
more slowly to the house, and the people, giving him a parting cheer,
hurried to the village.
When a mixed crowd of fishers, farmers, and miners entered the taproom
of the Three Jolly Mariners, they found Joe Penwarden comfortably
settled in the place nearest the fire. As an excise-man, he had never
frequented the smugglers' haunt at the Five Pilchards, but occasionally
dropped in for a glass at the other inn. Observing Tonkin, Pendry, and
a dozen more free-traders among the newcomers, he shook the ashes out of
his church-warden, gulped down his grog, and rose to go. It was against
the rules of the service to consort with smugglers, known or suspected.
"Bide where ye be, Maister," said Tonkin, heartily. "'Tis peace and
goodwill to-day, and though some may hate 'ee like a toad o' common
days, we'll treat 'ee like a true Christian to-day; what do 'ee say,
neighbours all?"
"Ay, Maister," said Pendry, "set 'ee down and hark to the noble history
we've got to tell 'ee. 'Tis rum-hot all round--eh, souls?"
They pressed Penwarden into his chair, and, all speaking together,
poured into his ears the story of the great discovery.
"Well," he said presently, "'tis the noblest Christmas box as ever man
got in this weary world."
"Iss, sure," said Petherick, adding in his ecclesiastical manner, "'Tis
'My soul doth magnify' for Squire and parish too, I don't care who the
man is."
"True," said Penwarden, "and little small fellers like we must gie them
above the credit o't. Theer be doin's in high parts as we cannot make
head or tail of. Squire's cousin comes here, a right-down villain,
a-deceivin' high and low from Sir Bevil himself down to small fry like
'ee."
"That no man can deny," said Tonkin.
"And yet," pursued Penwarden, enjoying his unaccustomed _role_ as
oracle,--"and yet, if he hadn' a-come, theer'd 'a been no Frenchy poking
his nose in Polkerran, and no call for Maister Dick to shift a stone
that has held to the same moorings maybe since the beginnin' o' the
world. Ay, the Almighty do say a word sometimes to us miserable worms."
The old man's solemnity caused a hush to fall on the assembly. For some
moments no one spoke. The room filled with clouds of smoke. Then
Penwarden took his pipe from his mouth, and, in a different tone, said:
"It minds me o' Lord Admiral Rodney."
"What do mind 'ee of him, Maister?" asked Simon Mail, whose arm was in a
sling.
"Why, a high person speakin' to a low. Did 'ee never hear how the Lord
Admiral once upon a time spoke special to me?"
"Never in life, Maister," said Mail. "Spet out the story for the good
of us all."
"Well, 'twas on Plymouth Hoe. Theer was I, takin' a spell ashore, and
cruisin' about: ah! I had a good figurehead in them gay young days.
Daze me if Lord Admiral Rodney didn' run athwart my course, convoying
two spankin' fine craft in the shape of females. The sight took the
wind out o' my sails, I assure 'ee, and I fell becalmed full in the
fairway, as ye med say. 'Get out o' my way, you cross-eyed son of a
sea-cook,' says the Lord Admiral, and the two handsome females laughed
like waves dancin' in the sun. 'Twas a wonderful honour for a great
man-o'-war like Lord Admiral Rodney to speak to a humble and lowly
feller like me."
"'Twas a gashly scornful name to call 'ee, I b'lieve," said
Pennycomequick, the village wet-blanket.
"Ah! but you should ha' heerd what he called the swabbers aboard,"
replied Penwarden, lighting another pipe.
The result of the assayer's tests was more satisfactory than the most
sanguine had dared to anticipate. The ore was particularly rich in
metal, and the lode appeared to extend through the lower part of the
Beal seaward. A careful examination of the ground explained the reason
why the discovery had not been made earlier. Between the old mine and
the new lode extended several yards of granite, by what is known in
geology as a "fault."
When the assayer declared that in all probability the tin-bearing
stratum stretched for thousands of yards under the sea, the question to
be debated was whether the Squire should sell the land, or attempt to
work it himself. There was little doubt as to what his decision would
be. His long-vanished ideas of restoring the fortunes of his family
returned with double force, and it scarcely needed the persuasiveness of
Mr. Carlyon and Dick to fix his determination. The ground having been
thoroughly surveyed, his new lawyer in Truro had no difficulty in
negotiating a loan which furnished him with enough capital to start
working. Plant was soon on the spot, miners were engaged, and within a
few months the yield was sufficient to pay the interest on the loan, a
portion of the capital sum, and a contribution towards the increased
expenditure at the Towers. Now that the tide had turned towards
prosperity, the Squire put in hand the repairs long needed there, and
Mrs. Trevanion decided to retain Cook and Maidy Susan in her employment.
The question of Dick's future came up. Mr. Carlyon urged that he should
continue his studies and go to Oxford; but Dick's inclination was for a
more strenuously active life. He worked for a time as a common miner in
order to learn the details of the trade, visited other mines to widen
his knowledge, and ultimately became his father's manager, in which
capacity he showed a genius for organisation and the control of men.
Sam Pollex, basking in the continual sunshine of Maidy Susan's smile,
became the Squire's gardener, and was very proud of the results of his
handiwork. He grew a few inches, and by the time he was twenty stood a
little higher than Susan's shoulder. Convinced that he would grow no
more, he asked her to marry him, pointing out that though she was older
in years, he was older in knowledge: that she looked younger than she
was, and he older. They made a match of it, Susan's wedding dress being
fashioned out of a blue silk recovered from the cave.
A month or two after the day of the great discovery, the Collector at
Plymouth paid a visit to Polkerran, and decided that Penwarden was too
old for his post. This gave deep offence to the old man. "Too old, be
I?" said he; "we'll see about that." The Squire offered him the post of
overseer at his new mine, which he accepted. His indignation at the
slight put upon him in the King's name scarcely diminished with the
lapse of time, and a village tradition asserts that, during the next ten
years, the smuggler who caused the most trouble and annoyance to the
revenue officers was Joe Penwarden, once exciseman. But no one who knew
the old man's strong sense of duty, and had heard him speak of his
service under Admiral Rodney, could ever believe that the actions of his
later life so far belied his principles.
About six months after John Trevanion's disappearance, a billposter came
from Truro and posted notices on the fences of the desolate grounds of
the Dower House, and Petherick, as village crier, rang his bell and
proclaimed the approaching sale of "all that messuage and tenement," et
cetera. It was already known, through the resumption of business
relations between Tonkin and Delarousse, that the latter had thrown
Trevanion into prison, and lodged a claim against him for the
restitution of large sums of money which he had obtained by a systematic
course of fraud. When the day of the sale came, it was remarked that
none of the neighbouring land-owners put in an appearance except Squire
Trevanion. Sir Bevil Portharvan had, in fact, personally persuaded his
friends to absent themselves, and leave the bidding to the Squire. As
is generally the case with forced sales, the bids were low, and the
estate was knocked down to Mr. Trevanion of the Towers, at a
ridiculously small figure. The proceeds of the sale did not suffice to
clear John Trevanion, who remained in prison until his death of fever a
year later. The Squire told Mr. Carlyon that as soon as Dick set about
seeking a wife, he would rebuild the Dower House. But Dick did not
marry until after his father's death, sixteen years later, and the site
of the Dower House was then a picturesque ruin.
Doubledick was never again seen in Polkerran, nor was anything directly
heard of him by his former associates. The inn lost all its customers,
who transferred their favours to the Three Jolly Mariners. In three
months, Mrs. Doubledick was on the brink of ruin, and one day she
mounted the carrier's cart, with a few bundles, and departed, no one
knew whither.
Some few years afterwards, the landlord of a low public-house in the
precinct of Whitefriars, London--a haunt of thieves, coiners, and other
bad characters--was discovered in an alley behind the house, dead, with
a bullet-wound in his temple. He went by the name of Brown, and was
believed to be a West-countryman. It was rumoured that his murderer was
one of a gang whom he had betrayed to the police. No one came forward to
claim relationship with him, and he was buried by the parish.
For many years rare visitors to the village wondered at a dilapidated
building that stood near the jetty, its windows broken, its door
blistered by the sun, the fragment of a signboard creaking on a rusty
pole whenever the wind blew in from the sea--a mournful symbol of
neglect and decay. If any stranger was curious enough to inquire into
the history of this unpicturesque ruin, he would always find a small boy
ready to conduct him to the house of one of the Tonkins, who related,
with the exactitude of personal knowledge, the lamentable story of
Doubledick the informer.