The story hunter

You must know, gentle reader, that at Eccles, a village of about a score inhabitants, on the Norfolk coast, midway between Yarmouth and Cromer, stands an old church tower. It is quite upon the beach, so that at spring tides the “send” of the waves comes round the base of the old flint tower, which must at some day, not far distant,[D] fall with a mighty crash, a prey to the undermining and gnawing of the hungry sea, which in its insatiable encroachment annually devours hundreds of tons of the soft clay cliff, which at no point reaches a very formidable height.

North and south of Eccles the cliffs give place to sand dunes, or, as they are locally called, “Marram banks,” which are kept in repair by a tax levied on all the villages between Norwich and the sea, a distance of nearly twenty miles. Norwich itself also contributes its quota, as if the sea once broke through the banks it would, by ditch, marsh, and river, run quite up to the ancient city, and submerge the portion which is contiguous to the river Wensum.

The steeple at Eccles (or as it is called locally, and by the thousands of mariners who know it as a landmark, Eccles Old Tower) stands just above high-water mark, on the beautiful firm sands, for which the Norfolk coast is unsurpassed. It is of flintwork, the lower part being “knapped,” or dressed, and the upper part of the natural flint. It is a circular tower with an octagonal upper chamber, but it is roofless, doorless, and windowless, excepting that the apertures, greatly decayed, still remain. The walls of the tower are unusually massive, and the whole structure rises to an altitude of nearly seventy feet.

The body of the church was pulled down about 1603, being then in such a bad state of repair that it was dangerous to passers-by; in fact, one wall was actually blown down in a gale, and the other razed to prevent an accident.

The foundations of the church still exist, but buried in the sand. It was a small church (the nave being only some sixty feet long), and as its remains are occasionally laid bare, the writer has had opportunities of measuring the various dimensions. Although these dimensions might be interesting to an ecclesiologist or archæologist, they would be wearisome to our readers, as they have nothing whatever to do with the story.

Round the huge fragments of the recumbent walls may be seen, after a visit from a heavy north-west gale, the foundations of the cottages which once formed the village. Cottage walls, out-houses, filled-up wells, fruit-tree roots, etc., are to be seen in all directions, and now and then, at rare intervals, a few coins and curiosities are picked up. When the ruins are laid bare, the place forms what might aptly be termed the Norfolk Pompeii.

It was while I was sketching the old tower, one autumn day, that I came upon a fisherman employed in breaking up some wreckage which had been washed ashore. The timber being full of old bolts, and consisting mainly of twisted, gnarled oak knees, was of no value save for firewood, otherwise it would have been in the hands of the coastguard. He was a very civil but reticent fellow, and I could not get a yarn out of him by any means without exerting my hypnotic power, which I did, obtaining, as a result, the following wild story.

ECCLES OLD TOWER.

I am only a plain fisherman, with but little book learning; but I think I can muster up enough form o’ speech to tell you one of the skeeriest tales you ever heard in all your born days.

It was the first week in January, 188—, that we had a dreadful gale from the north-west which came at the full moon; consequently the tides were high, and this here gale came with such a scouring force, that the soft cliffs melted away like a lump of butter in the glare o’ the sun. The sand was swep’ away right down to what you might term the foundations of the shore, and everything laid as bare as my forehead. I liken it to my forehead, which is kinder wrinkly, because there were great ruts and scars along the beach which had once been holls,[1] deeks,[2] and lokes.[3]

I and a mate o’ mine walked along the beach next day, just to see if anything had been thrown ashore that would come in handy to a couple of poor chaps like ourselves; but little did we find, for some one had been pawkin’[4] before us. Still, we got a useful length of two-inch rope and a couple of dantos,[5] attached to a score fathom of decent net, so our walk paid for shoe-leather.

When we got to the third breakwater—for we live at Hasbro’—and peeped over, we were wholly stammed[6] to see the old village of Eccles laid bare and plain like a map. There was the walls of the housen standin’ up two foot and more in some places; and some of the door thresholds were still there, with the wood as good as ever. We could make out the shapes of the gardens, and could see where the fruit-trees had once stood, by the roots and tree-bolls that still remained.

In grubbing about with a pointed boat-streak, I roused out an old leathern bag with a golden guinea in it, and a piece of rusty iron tangled in the strap, which might have been a knife or somethin’ of the sort in days gone by.

Afterwards we looked over the churchyard wall, and to our surprise found that many of the graves had been washed open; in fact, some of the coffins lay there nearly level with the ground, for you know we don’t bury very deep in Norfolk, not more than four foot, and only one corpse in each hole.

The coffins wor of a different shape to what they make ’em now-a-days, for they were long, like a seaman’s chest, but broad at one end and narrow at the other, and the lid hinged on at one side.

Human bones were washing about in all directions, and a long line of them lay among the rubbish left at high watermark. We found one immense coffin near the north wall of the church, which must have been seven foot long, if it was an inch. The lid was much decayed, and in some parts broken away; so we thought it no sin to prize the rest off, and see what was inside.

It was level full of sand, but when we scooped some of it out with our hands, we came upon the perfect skelington of a man, black with age, but nothing missing. It looked as if he might have been the giant Goliar that we read of in the Bible. He was no use to us, so we covered him up decent like, and as it was getting towards dark we took ourselves home agin.

Next day I borrowed old Garrod’s dickey,[7] and rode up to Stalham, and called on old Dr. Rix, for he was what some folks call a aquarian, or somethin’ o’ that sort, and showed him my guinea in the bag, and the old bit o’ steel; and he gave me just what I asked him for ’em, and that was two-and-twenty shillings: he was pleased, and so was I, for it was just as much as I could earn in a fortnight. I stopped at his some time goldering[8] about what I had seen at Eccles, and he up and told me, when I mentioned about the big skelington, that if I could bring it to him intack—that’s not broken or any bits lost—he’d give me a five-pound note.

Lor, I wor soon home agen, I made the old dickey fly as if the Old ’un were arter us. Thinks I, this ought to be a single-handed job, and if I take a big poke[9] and go alone, I shan’t have any one to dole[10] out halves to. So I got my spade and a lantern, a poke, and a fairish thumbpiece of bacon and bread, and everything else I wanted all ready, and then waited till near midnight, so that I knew the coast would be clear for the job.

It was a thick, starless night, with great grey snow-clouds rolling about overhead, and the wind from the north-east was a regular marrer-freezer, and I can’t say I much cared for the work in hand; but, as the parson said when he went on a slide, “it’s foolish to turn back,” so on I went. The road was frozen right nubbly, and made me wobble about a bit, but by the time I got to the beach I was warm and comfortable, and got along more comfortable-like on the frozen sand, which was covered with snow in the hollows. The sand and foam from seaward was a bit unpleasant, but I didn’t trouble much about that, for my thoughts were a mile ahead, with the skelington waiting for me at Eccles.

I had walked about half-a-mile along the beach, when down came the snow, wreathing and tearing about all mander[11] of ways, and every now and then I got into the centre of a whirl that pulled me up short, and nearly took my breath away. This only lasted a few minutes, and then the squall cleared off as suddenly as it came on, and I got on much faster with my journey.

I passed the first and then the second breakwater, and by the light that the sea always gives, I was picking my way along very nicely, when, what should I see, but some one a-coming towards me along the beach. I had not lighted my lantern, as I only wanted that for my actual work, so it was possible the man approaching might not have caught sight of me, and as I did not want to be seen by any one at that time of night, especially by a coastguard, I dropped quietly on the sand in a hollow, in hopes that whoever it was might pass me by.

Down I went on my stummick, but kept my eyes on the man approaching, and found to my surprise that he was dressed in very light clothes; not a coastguard, I thought, at all events.

Closer he came, and then I began for some reason or other to dudder[12] and tremble, but I can’t tell why, perhaps it was the cold; anyway, there was nothing I could see in the stranger that should fright me; that is to say, not just then, when I felt the first symptoms.

But presently, when he came closer, I had some cause to shake, for what I saw was a man in a long white smock, which blew out in the wind behind him as he stalked along. The nearer he came the worse I felt, for he seemed to grow taller and taller every step he took.

Would he pass me?

Yes!

No!!

No, up he came, right straight to me, and I felt like fainting—or what I should fancy fainting was like, for I have never experienced it. When he came close, I could not have stood on my feet for the value of Norwich Castle; I was right terrified, although the man had not even spoke a word.

As I looked up he towered above me like a lugger’s mast, and his great bare legs were right against me. I panted, for I could not speak, but presently, in a foreign sort of voice, the figure said—

“Hullo, my friendt, anything amiss?”

I looked at him again and my fear fled, for I immediately took him to be a shipwrecked mariner, cast ashore in his sleeping gear from some vessel.

My strength at once returned, and I stood upon my feet; but although five feet eight in my socks, and weighing fourteen stone in my oil-frock, I was only a baby by the side of my visitor, whose shoulder was more than level with the top of my head. This did not frighten me much, but when I looked at his eyes—Oh, lor! I thought I should have dropped on all fours again.

His eyes were red and glowing like the port-light of a ship, and when he spoke, the inside of his mouth seemed to reflect a fire, which must have been raging in his internal regions.

I felt real bad, but could not keep my eyes off that huge face, with its flaming eyes and mouth, and I vowed I would never come out, single-handed, skelington-hunting again—no, not for the whole R’yle Mint.

“Mine friendt,” said the giant, “you are just de man I wandt der see; you haf a spade. You come mit me to Eccles?”

Would I? Could I say no?

I went.

We had but half-a-mile to walk, and that in a biting east wind, varied with still more piercing squalls of snow and sleet, and I trembled in every limb, while my heart rattled on like a donkey-engine getting in a chain cable—all bumps and thumps.

I looked at the marrams,[13] and calculated what chance I should have if I tried leg-bail; but when I looked at the length of my companion, I gave it up as onpractical.

I was cold, although in what we call about here a “muck swat,” but my new friend was all of a glow (especially about the mouth). He would have made a rare fiery speaker for the House of Commons; he would have frightened them that he couldn’t convince by his speechifying.

His conversation was dreadful—I don’t mean perfane or rude-like, but the things that man told me made my flesh creep on my bones. He wanted to make out to me that he had been buried three hundred years, just before the old church was pulled down!

I can swallow a pretty thick strand of a yarn, but this here fellow wanted me to swallow a whole cable, for he went on to tell me how, in 1584, he came over from Harlingen to Yarmouth, in a fishing-boat of which he was mate, and that while ashore he one day fell in with three or four fellows who were kinder interfering with a good-looking young girl. Being strong he went for the whole set of them, and got the girl away, but one of the gang struck him a blow with a heavy stick and broke his arm.

The girl’s father came up and thanked the young Dutchman, and finding that his daughter’s protector had broken a limb and could not work for a week or two, took him to a surgeon and had the limb set. He left him with the onderstanding that Dutchy would come and spend a week with them, when the doctor had finished with him. The old fellow was a farmer at Eccles, and being market-day, had as usual brought his daughter with him to Yarmouth.

Well, up to there was what the play-actors would call Act One, and that was all very nice and proper, but just you listen, and you’ll see how it will turn out.

By and by away goes the young Dutchman to Eccles, and of course he naturally fell in love with the mawther.[14] But she wouldn’t have him at no price. No, she thanked him, and tried all she could to make him comfortable, but—she already had a sweetheart.

This staggered Dutchy, but he had no idea of letting her go so easily, and as every one in the village was afraid of the giant, the girl’s father ordered the banns to be put up, to make sure that his neighbour’s son should not be frightened out of his rights.

Dutchy tried all he knew to get the girl to alter her mind for a whole week; and finding it in wain, he one morning disappeared.

That was what you might term Act Two. So far it had been all comedy, as the play-actors call it, but the last act was a wiolent and wicious one, as you shall hear.

The wedding-day came; the villagers flocked to the church; the ceremony took place; the bells rang out; and, according to our custom, the people fired their guns over the heads of the happy couple as they came out of the porch, on their way to the home of the bride’s father.

All was perfect joy, but in another moment the joy was turned to horror, for as the young couple came from the north porch, and turned into the pathway leading round the foot of the old tower, a huge figure (it was Dutchy) sprang upon them, and like a flash of lightning struck them dead to the earth, before a hand could be raised to prevent it. The reeking knife he calmly wiped, and thrust into his waist-belt, and then stood glowering at the crowd, who kept at a very respectable distance from him. He told them of the hard-heartedness of the girl, and denounced her as she lay dead before him as an unfeeling creature, and bade them know that what he had done was his mode of revenge, or as he called it—Justice.

But where was the bride’s father all this time?

Well, he had been busy, as you shall hear.

It is the custom of we Norfolkers to give what we call “largesses”[15] at marriages, comings of age, and suchlike; and on this occasion the old man had pervided hisself with a little leather poke filled with small silver coins, to throw among the assembled crowd, and indeed he was occerpied in so doing when the death of his daughter took place. He knew it was no use going for Dutchy single-handed, so he just stepped behind the porch and loaded his gun with a handful of silver groats, and when it was done sprang out, just when the giant had finished his speech, and was turning to leave the place unmolested by the onlookers.

The old man shouted to him to stay or he would shoot; but, grasping the knife in his belt, the young fellow walked away, without taking any notice; whereupon the old man rushed after him, and aiming at his head, fired.

“Der oldt man did shoot mit der gun right tro mine neck, and I seize him, and gif him fon stap mit my knife, and den I vas dedt mineself,” were the words of my uncanny companion.

Whether he killed the old man I cannot say, but he himself was killed, and all this three hundred years ago!

And this was the gentleman I was taking a walk with, much against my will, at night’s-noon, as we say.

But then he went on with a lot more strange talk, about how he had a kind of holiday, or as we say frolic-time, ’lowanced out to him once every hundred years, on the annewersery of the day when all this piece of work took place; only he was not let loose, so to speak, till midnight, and then for only three hours.

Well, I’d heard some tough uns before, and didn’t mind what I had heard; but them eyes!—when I looked up at his face they bowled me over altogether. He was no mortal, that I could take my davy on.

For a little Dutchy walked in silence, and I found my tongue and asked him if he didn’t fare cold, seeing he only had a kind of shirt on!

He turned his eyes upon me, and then I saw I had made a mistake in asking such a question; fancy what a silly thing to ask a chap with a furnace in his innards. But he was not put out at my question, and wolunteered a explanation, as the saying is.

He opened his mouth and asked me to look into it. Well, if I live to be as old as our neighbour Ives, and she is a hundred and three, I shall never forget the sight. He blazed internally like a dustpan of live coal, and the sight made my knees quiver, as if the heat of his breath had melted my marrer, or whatever it is holds a fellow right up. I’ve heard tell of men’s hearts waxing faint, and I do believe that that night my bones were no better than wax, for hold my frame up straight I could not, however I tried, and I am not reckoned a coward when any job is on hand that wants a steady nerve and strong hand; and I’ve been out on the sea some rum wather too, but the sight down this fellow’s throat done me entirely.

When he had shown me his furnace below, he went on to tell me that what I had seen was the sin burning within him, and it could only be quenched by the forgiveness of the girl he killed three hundred years ago.

Well, of course I could not say that that was all fudge, though I could not believe him, but the funny part of it was, that when we got to Eccles Old Tower there sat a young woman on the ruins of the porch in a kind of night-shirt, as if she was waiting for us. That of course showed me that there was some truth in what Dutchy had been telling me, and when I nodded to the young woman, she gave me a very pretty smile, and said she was glad to see me, and that now I had come matters might be set right, and they could obtain a little rest.

Then she chatted on and told me that she had for a long time forgiven Dutchy, knowing that he had that within him that must have burnt away all sin long ago, but that without a mortal witness she could not forgive him, as the sin had taken place on earth. She owned that it was her cruel conduct that had brought on the Dutchman’s revenge, and now before me as witness she would forgive him, and seal the forgiveness with a kiss.

Lors me! when they kissed I thought the poor man would have been blowed to pieces, for he exploded intarnilly with a tremenjous report, and the flames shot out of his mouth, ears, and eyes like rockets, and went wizzing away in streaks right over the marrams, where they were soon swallowed up in the dark and thick air.

Now my legs did give way, and down I went with my back agen the church wall, and although I was spellbound, I could see and hear all that went on before me.

Dutchy, whose eyes and mouth no longer shone, snatched up my lantern, stooped over me, and took my brass box of matches and struck a light, then seizing the spade, he set to work, and very soon had the huge coffin out of the sand. But the strange thing about it was, that it was the very one I had come to rob, only now there were no bones in it, and it dawned upon my stupid brain that Dutchy and the skelington was one! Where he got his flesh and shirt from goodness only knows.

The young woman, who was very pretty and had long hair down her back, which blew out like a ship’s pennant in the gale, helped the giant by holding the lantern, while he did the work.

The big coffin being placed above ground, away they went round to the other side of the church, where Dutchy set to work digging again, and after a little while cleared the second coffin, which I reckon belonged to the girl.

While this was going on I had raised myself on to my marrer-bones, and with my fingers hooked over the old church wall was taking a view of all their doings, and no doubt I was all eyes and mouth if any one could have seen me.

Presently the giant up-ended the big coffin and got it on his shoulder, and as he and the girl came round by the tower, she stopped and actually asked for another kiss. Such a request took my breath away, and to avoid the awful dullor[16] which I expected would follow, put my fingers into my ears, but, would you believe me, it was as human a kiss as ever you saw, and not even a whiff of smoke appeared, let alone a tongue of flame, when their lips met.

He also carried the little coffin down to the water’s edge, and then up he came, and dragged the big one down by the side of it, and there they lay, for all the world like two boats.

Then back they came right to where I was, a-cowering by the flint wall, and says Dutchy—

“Tank you werry much for der lantern and der spade,” and he held out his great hand as he added, “Farewell.”

I was very loath, but I took it, and as true as I am alive, it felt damp and cold like the hand of a dead man, and sent a thrill along my backbone I shall never forget.

Then the young woman came forward and thanked me, and put forth her hand for me to shake, and I shook something very like a fish, but did not shudder quite so much, as I was a bit more used to it after the first shock, so to speak.

After that they walked down to their coffins and each got into the right one, and as I did not follow too close, Dutchy turned round and beckoned me to him, and with fear and trembling I obeyed, and tottered down to the water’s edge.

“Now, mynheer,” said he, “when you see der change kom, push der boads off.”

I had no idea what he meant, but I shuddered out a kind of “Yes,” and there they sat, till presently he cried out—

“Now den, push avay!”

As he spoke, I floated them off, and they appeared to melt partly away, and to change colour from the pinky tinge of life to the grey of death.

They floated: and by the sheen of the foam I beheld two skelingtons sitting in their coffins, scudding against wind and tide right out to sea, slashing through the great breakers as if they had no more weight or power than mists.

Dutchy’s skelington arm was round where his companion’s waist ought to have been, when I last saw them, as they burst through a big old roller that would have sunk a billyboy schooner.

Where they were bound for goodness only knows; neither do I care. All I know is, that I got home some time or other, for when I woke up the week after, they told me I was better, and that I had had brain fever.

When I got well, I went to Eccles to see if what I had got into my brainpan was all moonshine or no, but if you’ll believe my word, the two coffins I had seen dug up by Dutchy were gone sure enough, which I take it proves my story to be ker-rect.

My nautical friend, on leaving my van, had not the remotest notion that he had told me a story, and as to my being able to send him to sleep, why, he simply laughed at such a thing as an impossibility.

In his normal condition I tried in vain to draw him out to spin a yarn, but although he owned that he knew some “real rum ’uns,” I could not prevail on him to tell me one. He merely sat and smoked, and did little more than carry on a disjointed monosyllabic conversation.

“Why will you not spin me a yarn, my friend?” I asked.

“Why, sir, you see,” said he, “I ain’t no scholard, and although I may think a great deal, I’m no sort o’ hand at talking. I never could frame[17] enough to tell anything in a kinder pretty way like some folks. No, sir, you don’t ketch me opening my mouth to be papered [put in print] for gentlefolks to laugh and make game of me.”

That being so, I had no alternative but to make him a victim, with the result chronicled above.

EXPLANATION OF NORFOLK WORDS.