ST. MICHAEL'S MOUNT AND BAY.
The bay was calm enough to satisfy even Judith. There was not a cloud to be seen in the blue sky, and the bright sunlight lit up the pretty town of Penzance with its curving shore and background of hills, the old town of Marazion, Cuddan Point, and far away to the Lizard.
There is a little fishing village at the foot of the Mount, and thither John Trevan was bound, for he was anxious to consult his friend Richard Nelson about some matter connected with herring fishing, which begins after the mackerel season is over. He pulled straight to the stone steps in the harbour, and saw to his satisfaction that the very man he wanted was standing on the pier talking to a comrade.
After the bustle of landing was over, and the first greetings had been exchanged, Mr. Trevan asked: "Is Dick at home? My girls want a run with him over the Mount."
"He is here to answer for himself," said his father as a handsome boy of fifteen joined them, and shook hands warmly with Dorothy and Judith, who were old friends of his.
"How jolly to see you," he exclaimed. "You couldn't have come a better day. I'm going to be at home."
"Take the lassies to your mother," said Mr. Nelson, "and ask her to have some dinner ready for us at one o'clock."
The village at the base of St. Michael's Mount is surrounded on the land side by a wall of granite; a gate at one end admits its inhabitants and visitors to the Mount. The fishermen lay their nets out to dry on, the sloping turf just without the wall, and a little farther up is the well which supplies the villagers with fresh water. Most of the cottages look over the bay, but a few face the Mount, and it was to one of these Dick led the way. He stopped at a pretty little house, with a tiny garden at its side, and a fine old myrtle tree climbing up its walls and peeping into the gabled windows. A good-looking woman was standing outside-washing clothes in a large tub. She was delighted to see the little girls, and dried her hands hastily before she kissed them.
"How did you come, my dears?" she asked.
"Father brought us," said Dorothy. "He wanted to see Mr. Nelson, and gave us the treat."
"You must stay and have some dinner," said Mrs. Nelson.
"Yes, mother, they're going to stay," replied Dick. "Father says he'll be in at one. We're going up the Mount now."
"That suits me exactly, for in a couple of hours I shall have cleared up and be quite ready for you."
The ascent to the old castle is an easy one. The rock on which it is built is about two hundred feet high, and on the east and west sides of the cliff terminates abruptly, and the shore can only be reached by a flight of steps cut in the stone.
"Can we go inside the castle to-day?" asked Dorothy. "We've never seen the rooms, though we've been up here so many times. Mother said we might go in, if you can manage for us; she's given me some money for the housekeeper."
"All right," answered Dick.
They mounted the stone steps and rang the bell, which was answered by a respectable woman who permitted them to enter, and pointed out the various objects of interest.
The hall, which was the refectory of the monks, and the Benedictine chapel, claims the most notice; but that which had the greatest charm for the children, was a vault discovered some years ago when the chapel was undergoing repairs, in which the bones of a full-grown man were discovered. It is supposed that he was bricked up there and left to die. Dick and Dorothy entered the vault, but Judith was too timid to accompany them. Dorothy would also have liked to go to the top of the church tower and sit in what is popularly called St. Michael's chair, but the wind was so high the housekeeper would not permit it.
"There's plenty of time before you," she said good-humouredly to Dorothy. "You may have another ten years on your shoulders before you need climb to St. Michael's chair; it's not for such as you, but young brides, or old ones for that matter, who are disappointed if they don't sit in the chair before their husbands."
"But why?" asked Judith.
"You surely know," said Dick. "Every one in Cornwall has heard of St. Michael's chair."
"Indeed, we never have," replied Dorothy; "do tell us about it. I only know that St. Michael's chair is in the church tower, but not why it is called so."
"Because the wife is said to be the master if she sits in the chair before her husband; so you see, my dear, you may wait many years before you need to mount into the tower," said the housekeeper.
"I learnt the story about St. Michael's chair at school in a piece of poetry," said Dick. "I can't think how it is you've never heard of it. It begins like this:—
"'Merrily, merrily rung the bells,
The bells of St. Michael's tower,
When Richard Penlake, and Rebecca his wife,
Arrived at St. Michael's door.
"'Up to the tower Rebecca ran,
Round, and round, and round;
'Twas a giddy sight to stand a-top,
And look upon the ground.'"
"And did she sit in the chair?" asked Judith.
"Yes, but the bells rang so loudly, that the chair rocked, and out she fell."
"Is it a real chair?" questioned Dorothy.
"No, my dear; only a stone, and by no means a comfortable one to sit on; and why it is supposed to be endowed with such gifts it is hard to say," replied the housekeeper.
The young people thanked her for her kindness, as they left the castle. They rambled about for some time and gathered flowers, then they watched the rabbits skipping and running hither and thither among the furze. At last Dick suggested that they should go down the steps to a sheltered place, where they could sit and talk.
"Yes, do," said Dorothy; "for we want to hear from you the story of 'Jack the Giant-killer.'"
"Who told you that I knew it?"
"Father. Now begin at once, Dick."
"I will directly we've found a comfortable rock. I think I'd better take you to my summer-house."
They had to scramble over many, large boulders, until they reached one which was sheltered by a higher rock behind it; this Dick called his summer-house. It was close to the shore, and a warm snug place to sit in.
"Before I begin my story I must ask you one question, and I wish Judith to answer it," said Dick. "Do you believe that Jack the Giant-killer was a real man?"
"No, of course, not," she answered. "It's only one of the old Cornish tales with no truth in it."
KING ARTHUR'S CASTLE ON THE COAST OF CORNWALL.
"Very well, as that's settled, I'm ready to tell you all I know about him. Many years ago a giant inhabited the Mount, who was named Cormoran. He was eighteen feet high, three yards round, and a very fierce-looking fellow. He lived quite alone, and allowed no one to come near him. When he felt hungry, he waded through the water on to the shore, and went to one of the villages to steal cattle. He was so strong that he could carry six cows on his back at once, and a large sheep between his finger and thumb. Of course, all the people round very much disliked this giant, and felt it was hard to lose their cattle; but yet they were too much frightened of him to venture to show fight when he appeared.
"Near to the Land's End lived a rich farmer, who had one son, called Jack, and he determined to win a name for himself by getting rid of Cormoran. He thought for many days and weeks before he could make up his mind what to do, and in that time he tried his hand on Thunderbore, a huge fellow, with flaming eyes and long hair, that hung over his shoulders like curled snakes. He succeeded in killing this giant, who lived very near to his father's farm, though the books don't say how he managed it, but perhaps in the same way that he killed Cormoran.
"At any rate, soon after the death of Thunderbore, Master Jack determined to dig a pit on the spot where the giant always set his foot when he landed. He covered it with a stone, which he poised so cleverly that it only required a little touch to make it fall into the deep hole. The plan succeeded perfectly. Cormoran came out of his cave one day to seek for provisions. He waded through the sea, and set his foot on the stone: it gave way, and he fell in, and was so hurt that he lay moaning until he died. Of course Jack became a great man, and he killed a good many more Cornish giants. So ends my story. Now, Judith, tell me what you have been thinking about, for you've been looking a deal too grave."
"Just this, Dick," answered the little girl. "You know the Bible contains a story about a giant, and a boy who killed him, and I thought how grand it was compared to yours; and it's all true, too, every word of it."
"Tell it to me, and then I'll give you my opinion," said Dick.
Judith hesitated for a moment, and whispered to her sister.
"Oh, yes, do," answered Dorothy aloud. "Dick," she added, "Judith wrote a history of David and Goliath for teacher, only last Sunday, and she's got it with her."
JUDITH READS HER STORY OF THE GIANT.
"That's capital; let me hear it."
"It isn't quite all my own," said truthful Judith; "teacher altered one or two things—not many. I wasn't allowed to look at my Bible after I began to write, but I read the history over a great many times so that I might remember it."
"And she had a prize because it was done the best in the class," exclaimed Dorothy.
"That's first-rate," cried Dick. "Don't lose any time, Judith."
The little girl took a roll of paper out of her pocket, and read thus:
"In the days of King Saul, the Israelites fought against the Philistines, and both armies drew up ready for battle one day. The Philistines had a great giant on their side, called Goliath of Gath, who was about eleven feet high, and wore a helmet of brass on his head. He was armed with a coat of mail; the staff of his spear was like a weaver's beam; and he had a man going before him to carry his shield.
"He stood and cried to the armies of Israel, and said, 'Why are ye come out to set your battle in array. Am not I a Philistine, and ye servants of Israel? Choose you a man for you, and let him come down to me. If he be able to fight with me, then we will be your servants; but if I kill him, then shall ye be our servants, and serve us. I defy the armies of Israel this day.'
"King Saul and all Israel were frightened when they heard these words, for they had no one who dare meet this giant in single combat. For forty days he came and presented himself before them, and they grew more and more afraid.
"In Bethlehem Judah there lived a man named Jesse, who had eight sons. The three eldest followed King Saul to battle, and the youngest fed his father's sheep. He was called David, and had a beautiful countenance; and God loved him, and was with him. One morning his father sent him to the camp with some corn for his brethren, and ten cheeses for the captain of their thousand.
"David found the two armies drawn up ready for battle, so he ran into the midst of the Israelites and talked to his brothers. While he was hearing how they fared, the great giant came out and spoke the same words, which frightened the men of Israel so much that they fled away from him.
"David saw all this, and asked the men who stood near him, what should be done to the one who killed the Philistine, and took away the reproach from Israel?
"'The king will make him very rich,' they replied, 'and give him his daughter, and make his father's house free in Israel.'
"When Eliab, David's eldest brother, heard him ask this question he was very angry, and said, 'Why didst thou come here? who has charge of thy sheep? Thou hast only come to see the battle.'
"But David answered, 'There is a reason for my coming.' So he turned from his brother and asked another, 'Who is this Philistine, that he should defy the armies of the living God?' Again he received the same answer; and the people went and told Saul his words.
"The king sent immediately for David. The young man entered into his presence, and said boldly, 'Let no man's heart fail because of this giant; thy servant will go and fight with this Philistine.'
"To this the king answered, 'Thou art not able to fight with him, for thou art a youth.'
"Then David told Saul that a lion and bear had come one day and taken away a lamb out of his flock, and that he went after them, and slew them. And he said that he was not afraid of the great giant, who had defied the armies of the living God, for the Lord would deliver him into his hand.
"When Saul heard these words, he answered, 'Go, and the Lord be with thee.' The king clothed David in armour, but the latter said, 'I cannot go with these, for I have not proved them.' So he put them off, and took his staff in his hand, and went to the brook, where he chose five smooth stones, which he put into his shepherd's bag; and with his sling in his hand, he drew near the Philistine.
"As soon as Goliath looked on David, he scorned him, and asked, 'Am I a dog, that thou comest to me with stones? I will give thy flesh to the fowls of the air and the beast of the field.'
"David answered, Thou comest to me with a sword, and a spear, and a shield; but I come to thee in the name of the Lord of hosts, the God of the armies of Israel, whom thou hast defied. This day the Lord will deliver thee into my hand, and all the earth will know there is a God in Israel.' So Goliath came nearer, and David ran to meet him, and put his hand in his bag and took out a stone, and slung it, and smote the Philistine in his forehead, and he fell upon his face to the earth."
"Well done, Judith," said Dick. "I declare I couldn't do it so well, and I am two years older than you are."
"Which story do you like best, yours or mine?" asked Judith.
"Why, yours to be sure, because I know it's true. Besides, just think of the beautiful way in which it's written in the Bible. I never get tired of reading about David, and often envy him."
"Now let's settle why we should like to be David," said Dorothy. "Supposing you say first, Dick, as you are the oldest."
"Because," answered the boy, thinking for a moment, "because I should like to have been the one to kill the giant, when the whole army was afraid of him."
"And I," said Dorothy, "because I should like to have been as much thought of as David was, and get into the king's favour."
"And I," said Judith, speaking in a low voice, "because God was with him, and helped him to kill the giant."
"You've hit on the right reason, Judith," exclaimed Dick. "You always were good. I don't believe you've half the temptations to be naughty that Dorothy and I have."
"Oh! Don't say that. Nobody knows exactly what the other is like," replied Judith.
"That's true," answered Dick. "Still I can't help thinking you are very good, Judith. Now let us go back; I have to fetch mother some water before dinner."
John Trevan and his daughters returned to Newlyn early in the afternoon, for the former was too busy to be longer absent. The sea was a good deal rougher than when they were going, but not enough to make Judith nervous. She and Dorothy chattered to their father all the way home. They told him of their morning's conversation.
He agreed with Judith that a fisherman's life often reminded him of the Lord Jesus and His disciples.
"I think," he said, "that the time when the Master stood by the lake of Gennesaret, and the people pressed upon Him to hear, so that He was obliged to enter into a boat, is my favourite scene. If you remember, our Lord commanded Simon to thrust out a little from the land, and sat down and taught the people in the ship. And after He had done speaking, He ordered Simon to launch out into the deep, and let down his nets; and the disciples answered,—
"'Master, we have toiled all the night and have taken nothing:
nevertheless at Thy word I will let down the net.'
"And when they had done this, they enclosed a great multitude, and the net broke. How often I have pictured this to myself when we have been hauling in a great draught, or have toiled for hours and caught nothing."
Just as John Trevan finished speaking they came near enough to the shore for the rope to be thrown out. It was caught by one of the crew belonging to the "Mary Ann."
"We want your opinion, captain," he said.
"I'm here," answered John. "Go home, children, and do not wait for me."
Dorothy and Judith were soon sitting at their grandfather's side, giving him and their mother a full account of the day's proceedings. Among other things they spoke of St. Michael's chair, and said they wondered they had never heard it was so famous.
"Just as well not, little ones," said Captain Nance. "We've no bickering for mastery here. Your father and mother have each their own place to fill, and they seek help from One who is able to uphold their footsteps, and teach them how to govern themselves. That's the secret of true happiness in married life: After all, St. Michael's chair and the charm it is said to possess, is only one of the old Cornish traditions."
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CHAPTER VII.
WILLY'S BIRTHDAY.
DOROTHY won golden opinions from her parents and teacher next day. Her lessons were so well said, and her sums so correctly done, that Miss White sent a message home by Judith, expressing how satisfied she was with her pupil.
"You're very happy to-day, Dorothy," said her father; "I can see it in all your movement, and your face is beaming."
"Yes, father, I am very happy. I tried hard not to be idle this morning. I was just a tiny bit sorry that I had to go to school, but I asked God to help me to act properly, and Judith was so kind; and now I'm so glad to think that Miss White is satisfied to-day."
"You can't have a better helper than your Heavenly Father," said Captain Nance. "He'll bring you to the port at last. Don't forget what I told you about His being our guide. I've borne the battles and the breezes of life long enough to know where to find safe anchorage."
Dorothy not only merited her teacher's praise on that day, but on other days that followed. She tried to conquer herself, and succeeded as she had never done before, because she endeavoured to think of these words at all times,—
"Thou God seest me."
She told Judith she meant that verse to be her birthday text.
"And it shall be mine too," answered her sister.
The month of April wore away, and May set in. The hedges round Newlyn grew greener every day; the trees came out in full leaf, the ferns waved in wild luxuriance, and the banks were blue with hyacinths.
The mackerel season ends in the middle of May, and the fishermen employ the weeks that intervene before the pilchard season commences, by fishing for herrings off the coast of Ireland.
The "Mary Ann" left Newlyn late one afternoon in the third week of May.
"I shall think of you on Willy's birthday," John said to his wife, just before starting; "you'll bear up for my sake, Philippa?"
"I will try to," she answered; "but I must remember my boy as of old. Nine years, John, on the 8th of next month, since he left us. I think of him as a boy still, but if he's living he's a young man of twenty-four. How happy he would have made us had he turned out well; he would have helped you in so many ways."
"So he would, wife, and God only knows how gladly I should welcome him home. I'm always changing my opinion about him; sometimes I doubt much if we ever see him again in this world, and then again I feel sure he will return. God grant that we shall meet him in heaven, if we never see him here."
"Father is the only one who seems clear about his being alive, and coming home; and I find myself dwelling on the old man's words."
"Try not to, Philippa, it makes the uncertainty harder to bear. Leave the matter in the Lord's hands; and now let us join grandfather and the children."
When all was in readiness for departure, John bade adieu to his wife and daughters, who, with Captain Nance, accompanied him to the harbour. He shook hands with his father-in-law, and said, "God bless and keep you."
"Good-bye, my son," answered the veteran; "if my sailing orders come before you return, don't grieve for me; remember I shall have won the prize, and my poor weather-beaten bark will be safely landed."
The "Mary Ann" was not the only fishing vessel starting from Newlyn that night. There were five others. Herring fishing has been a source of great profit since the year 1826, when two boats left in the month of May for the coast of Ireland. Their success was so great that others followed, and since then a good trade has been carried on, and the income of the fishermen greatly increased thereby.
It was a glorious afternoon for starting; the wind was so brisk that the "Mary Ann" was soon out of sight.
"Now, children, come home," said Mrs. Trevan; "see how hard you can work at school for the next six weeks, and then work of another kind begins."
"Yes, mother, pilchards for ever!" cried Dorothy. "How I like the fun."
"Fun you call it; hard work I say," replied Mrs. Trevan. "What say you, Judith?"
"I think like Dorothy, mother, it's good fun; but then we don't do so much as you do."
"This year you must put your shoulders to the wheel," said Captain Nance; "when girls enter their teens, they enter on new responsibilities."
"Do you mean to work very hard, grandfather?" asked Judith.
"I shall try how my old bark will bear the strain. The bolts are dropping out fast, child, but so long as the planks hold together I shall work."
Judith did not answer her grandfather; she only pressed the hand she held to show she understood the meaning of his words.
The days rolled on rapidly until Willy's birthday dawned, and Philippa, as was her custom, went out early in the morning to pray.
"Dorothy, wake up," said Judith, "I hear mother stirring, and this is Willy's birthday. I've just thought that as we've turned thirteen we are old enough to comfort her. Let's go up Paul Hill and tell her we should like to pray with her for Willy."
"Do you think mother will like it?" questioned Dorothy.
"I'm sure she will. She'll feel that we think of her in her sorrow."
Mrs. Trevan sat alone on Paul Hill. It was still very early in the morning, and no sound disturbed the stillness, save the twittering of the birds. Her eyes wandered far, far away.
"Will he ever come?" she said aloud.
And then the question merged itself into thoughts of her first-born, her darling, the boy who had loved her in spite of his naughtiness; but who had loved his own will and his own ways so much better that he could descend so low as to steal from his mother, and leave the home without a parting word. Was he in want? And would the want make him bethink himself of the fisherman's cottage, and the love and tenderness which had gathered round him there; and would he remember his early training and the God against whom he had sinned, but who would show mercy, and was ready to welcome him back to His heart; who had a robe waiting for him with which He would replace the rags; who had a ring in token of owning His son once more in the family; who had shoes to cover his feet that were sore, and ached from walking over dusty roads and sharp stones? Did Willy feel, did he know that there would be joy in heaven if he would arise and come to his Father?
At last she buried her head in her hands and prayed for strength to have faith in God, and to believe that a wise and loving Father was busy about her life, and knew all about her heart-sickness, and did not forsake her. She felt a quiet calm stealing over her as she repeated these words aloud,—
"When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through
the rivers, they shall not overflow thee; when thou walkest through the
fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon
thee. For I am the Lord thy God, the Holy One of Israel, thy Saviour."
Her face was still hidden, when a gentle touch on either shoulder made her look up, to find her daughters at her side.
"Mother, forgive us, and don't be vexed because we've come," said Dorothy; "but we think we're old enough to help you to bear your sorrow."
Philippa's eyes glistened through her tears. "My darlings!" was all that she could answer.
They sat down, one on each side of her, and talked about their brother for some time. Then the conversation grew more personal; and Dorothy and Judith spoke of the longing they had to live holy lives, and how often they failed in little things; and how they daily read God's book together, and tried to realise the time when Jesus spoke to publicans and sinners, and walked and lived on earth.
Mrs. Trevan was beguiled by these loving confidences, and was filled with thankfulness to God that even her Dorothy, whose quick temper and hasty words had so often troubled her, seemed so earnest in pursuit of the things which make for our everlasting welfare.
"Now mother, dear, let us go for a little walk," said Dorothy. "Come with us to Paul Church, it will do you good."
"Not now, we must return to grandfather; but I promise you that we will have an early tea this afternoon, and walk over the hill later."
"That will be delightful," said Judith. "And if we can only get grandfather to come too, we shall enjoy it all the more."
Captain Nance was quite ready to walk to Paul Church after tea. The ascent was rather trying to the old man, but he enjoyed the scene nevertheless. Mrs. Trevan lingered for a few moments on the spot where her daughters had surprised her in the morning, and her face grew anxious; but again her children interfered, they would have her admire the furze which was out in full blossom. The air was redolent with its sweetness; it grew in the hedges, on waste patches of land, about the shaft of a mine long since abandoned, at the edge of the cliff; by the road side, in fact, in all directions the eye fell on bright masses of yellow.
Every step up Paul Hill revealed a broader expanse of sea, and gave them a wider view of Mount's Bay. When they reached the top, Captain Nance sat down.
"This mounting makes my old engine puff a little," he said. "Give me a few minutes' rest, and I shall be ready to march again."
Newlyn and Mousehole, a little fishing village beyond, form part of the parish of Paul. Its church is celebrated for its old granite tower which bears the date of 821. It is all that remains of the edifice, which was burned by the Spaniards in 1585. They landed at Mousehole and came over the hill to Paul. It is said they met some women laden with wood and furze, and compelled them to deposit their bundles in the porch of the church, and by setting fire to it and opening the doors they created such a draught of air that the building was soon in flames.
In the churchyard lie the remains of Dolly Pentreath, who died in December, 1777, at the age of one hundred and two. She was the last person who could converse in the Cornish language, which was very much like the Welsh. The people of Cornwall had their own dialect once, and up to the reign of Henry VIII., many men and women could not understand a word of English.
Dolly was the daughter of a fisherman who lived at Mousehole. At twelve years old she used to go to Penzance to sell fish, speaking the Cornish language, which many of the inhabitants could not even then understand. She was twenty years old before she learned English. Towards the close of her life she was very poor, and lived by begging, fortune-telling, and gabbling Cornish.
The Spaniards and Dolly Pentreath formed the topics of conversation between Captain Nance and his grandchildren.
Mrs. Trevan said but little, she occupied herself with her knitting and her thoughts. She was roused from her reverie by hearing her father trying to teach Dorothy and Judith the few words of Cornish he knew.
"Dew gena why," said Dorothy.
"Dew gena why," repeated Judith.
"Now how long will you remember that these words mean in Cornish what we understand when we say 'good-bye'?" asked their grandfather.
"I'm sure I shall forget them by to-morrow. What do you think, mother?" asked Dorothy.
"That you ought to have a better memory."
"I'll make a promise to one, or both of you," said Captain Nance, "If you say 'Dew gena why' to me before you go to school to-morrow, you shall have the best bun to be bought at the pastry cook's in Penzance."
"You will have to spend your money, father," replied Mrs. Trevan. "I see by the bright faces before me that both Dorothy and Judith mean to earn a bun."
Mrs. Trevan was right. The next evening Captain Nance and his grandchildren walked from Newlyn through the lanes to Penzance, which is about a mile distant, and when they returned about an hour later, each of the little girls had a paper bag which contained a large bun, and Captain Nance was out of pocket by the transaction.
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CHAPTER VIII.
MIDSUMMER EVE.
JOHN TREVAN returned on the 22nd of June, and found his dear ones well and happy. He had had a successful cruise and was some pounds richer than when he started.
Dorothy and Judith were watching anxiously for their father, because when he was at home, they joined in the gala doings on the Eve of St. John, and went to the fair on Midsummer day. It sometimes happened that Mr. Trevan was later in returning, but this year he was just in time, to the children's great delight.
One of the old customs that yet remain in Cornwall is the annual celebration of the Eve of St. John. It is thought to be a remnant of idolatry, and to have been introduced into Britain by the Phœnician traders who worshipped the sun; be this true or not, it is certain that the summer solstice has been celebrated for a long period of time by the lighting of fires.
When it grows dusk, tar barrels and bonfires blaze in every direction, at Penzance, Marazion, St. Michael's Mount, Newlyn, and Mousehole: the whole of Mount's Bay is thus illuminated. The young men and maidens resort to Penzance in the evening from the country, carrying torches, which they swing about in all directions: fireworks are let off, and the revels conclude by the lads and lassies forming themselves into a line and running through the street calling out "an eye, an eye!" And thus play the game generally known as "thread the needle."
Mrs. Trevan was rather nervous about her children going into the midst of the confusion, but her husband overruled her fears, and started to Penzance with his daughters on St. John's Eve.
Captain Nance grew young again when he saw the fires blazing: he fancied he was a boy running hither and thither with his torch, and leading the line of young people through the streets of Penzance. He watched them burn out and then he returned to his arm-chair and netting, and finally fell asleep.
"We've never enjoyed ourselves so much before," said Dorothy, opening the door at eleven o'clock, and thus rousing her grandfather. "The game isn't over yet, but father thought we'd better come home."
"I think so too," answered Mrs. Trevan, who was busy with her needlework. "But how tired you look, John," she added.
"No wonder," he replied, laughing. "Your daughters run so fast, and I had to keep up with them lest I should miss them in the crowd."
"You run quite as fast as we do, father," said Judith.
"Perhaps I do, and once I could run faster, but it makes my legs ache. I've been chasing you through the streets of Penzance for one hour, and am almost stunned with hearing 'an eye, an eye!' shouted on every side of me. But I am really proud of our young people, for with all their enjoyment there is no rudeness nor rough behaviour."
"That speaks well for them," remarked Captain Nance. "It was just the same in my day, and we rarely heard of an accident happening."
"Now, children, be off to bed," said Mrs. Trevan. "Are you going holiday-making with them to-morrow?" she asked her husband.
"We shall see," he replied. "At any rate, I am not going out fishing. I've an idea, wife," he said, when his little daughters had left the room. "I've come back richer than I've ever been before, and I'm inclined to hire a cart to-morrow and drive you all to the Logan Rock. The children have long wished to see it. What say you, father?"
"That I shall be delighted to go," said the old man; "it's many years since I was there, and it's one of the grandest sights in all our county. I should like to know where you can find sixty-five tons of granite to rock like a child's cradle. I ought, perhaps, to say that it used to rock like a child's cradle, for since it was tumbled over and set up again, it doesn't move so well as it did."
"Then it's settled that we go," replied John. "We've none of us been to the rock for many a day, and I'm sure we shall all enjoy seeing it."
"Indeed I shall," answered Mrs. Trevan, "and what's more, and best of all, is the outing with you, and the children, and father."
"I never thought to see the rocking stone again," said Captain Nance. "How wonderful it is that I have lived to my great age, after having such a rough life of it."
"God knows what is best for us all, father, and it's been a great joy to have you here," replied Philippa, "and I like to think of you as ready to live if He wills, but not afraid to die if He wills."
"Afraid, my child! No, thank God, I'm not afraid," answered Captain Nance, emphatically. "Who dare be afraid with a loving Father at the helm! I'm only waiting for my sailing orders. I'm ready to say to-night, or to-morrow, or this moment,—
"'Farewell, poor world, I must be gone,
Thou art no home nor rest for me,
I'll take my staff and travel on,
Till I a better world may see.'
"Good night, my son and daughter."
The far-famed Logan Rock is situated on a magnificent headland of granite. It is approached through a narrow pass, on reaching the top of which the last rampart of rocks is seen, on which the stone is poised.
The road from Newlyn to Treryn, the nearest village to the Logan Rock, is a good one, and for some distance the same as to the Land's End. The cart was left at the village inn, which takes its name from the stone; and a walk of a mile through the fields brought the party to the shore.
"There is some climbing for us to do," said Captain Nance. "I think I shall want your help, John; that is, if Philippa and the children can take care of themselves."
"I can take care of myself, grandfather," answered Dorothy, "and Judith can go with mother. Did you see how well I got over the hedges alone?"
In spite of Dorothy's boastful way of speaking, she fell and grazed her arm; but not severely, only enough to make her more careful, and to remind her that it was better to act quietly than to talk grandly.
At length the summit of the pass was reached, and then the grandeur of the scene burst upon them: they sat on a slab of granite, and looked on to the rampart of rocks where the famous Logan Stone rests.
An old man approached them and touched his hat. "Would you like to see the stone move?" he asked.
"Yes; after we've rested a little, you shall take us right up to it, and we'll see if we can make it rock," replied Mr. Trevan.
"It 'll never rock again properly, sir; it used to rock easily enough, but since it was tumbled over eight and thirty years ago, it's never gone as well since. I could move it then with one arm, but now I have to push with my shoulders against it. That stone rolling over was a sight not to be forgotten in a man's life."
"Did you see it go?" asked Dorothy.
THE LOGAN ROCK.
"Yea, little miss; I was one of the two Cornish men here when the lieutenant came who did it. He was a nice young man, with all his faults, and uncommonly sorry when he found how grieved and angry he had made everybody about here. His name was Goldsmith, and he commanded a revenue cutter which was stationed off our coast. He'd heard that it was said in Cornwall no one could upset the Logan Stone, though it rocked so well.
"He'd nothing better to do, so he came over here with some of his picked men, armed with levers. He ordered them to be put under the stone, gave the word of command, and over it rolled. Fortunately it was saved from falling into the water, or on to the ground, because it stuck in yon crevice between the rocks, just below the slab from which it was started. My friend and I were struck dumb, and enough to make us, to see the beautiful stone, which weighs nigh upon seventy tons, which all the world flocks to see, and which some say was put here by the Druids, thrown over for idle sport.
"When we came to ourselves, we made for the Lord of the Manor, and told him what we'd seen. I assure you that day there was quite a panic among the people of Treryn; it was just as if a plague had broken out, or something awful had happened; and no wonder, for we've little enough to depend upon, and to have the bread taken out of our mouths was indeed hard, for who'd come to see the Logan Stone sticking between two rocks. The matter wasn't let alone. Lieutenant Goldsmith was reported to the Admiralty; and they ordered him to put back the stone, and said they'd lend him all that he wanted for the purpose from Plymouth Dockyard. The week of work that followed before it was done will ever be remembered by those who had a hand in it, and even the women and children looked on. Strong planks were fixed about the Logan Stone, chains were fastened round it, pulleys were rigged, and capstans were manned. At last it moved a little, then it began to swing about in the air, then it was heaved up, and by degrees dropped down where you see it; and then we all fell on our knees and thanked God."
"What became of the lieutenant?" asked Judith.
"As soon as the people saw that the old stone was back, their curses turned into blessings; but, poor young man, it was a lifelong sorrow for him. Putting it back cost him a lot of money, and he was only clear of all his debts just before he died. And now follow me, and I'll make it move."
The stone moved at the old man's push, but Mr. Trevan found that though he put forth all his strength, he produced no perceptible motion. Truly the days of rocking for the Logan Stone are well-nigh gone, but the wild beauty of its surroundings remains untouched, and fills the mind with awe and wonder.
"Which do you like best, the Land's End or the Logan Rock, Judith?" asked her grandfather that evening.
"The Logan Rock," she replied; "it's far, far grander."
"Yes, dear; I agree with you. I felt it so grand, I was quite inclined to sit down and cry like a child. The waves were beating up wildly, and all around me spoke of a great God. I've never been so touched before; I can't think why it was; for an old tar should have a strong heart and a steady hand."
"I love you all the more for having a soft heart, grandfather. I dare say you were filled with wonder and thankfulness that the God who made the beautiful rocks was a loving Father, and cared for you above all the great things He has made."
"No, that's not it, exactly, little one. I fancy I know why I felt so sad. You'll know, too, if you live to be old. I sometimes ache for my clearance to come, and long to get my sailing orders; and when I witness such beautiful sights as I saw to-day, I want to take my departure to the land beyond Jordan."
"Do you think Heaven will be very beautiful, grandfather?" asked Dorothy.
"Yes, child; it must be more beautiful than anything that we can imagine. I try to picture to myself what the beloved disciple saw; but oh, children, I can't, and so the old tar will wait on patiently, knowing that—
"'Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart
of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love Him.'"
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CHAPTER IX.
PILCHARD FISHING.
ADJOINING John Trevan's house was a building we have not yet noticed. It is called a pilchard cellar. Before we describe it, we must explain what a pilchard is like, and why it should need a cellar.
Pilchards are a little smaller than herrings, closely resembling them in size. They are not found swimming about alone, or even in dozens; they rather choose the companionship of hundreds, thousands, and millions of their kind.
In winter they live in the deep sea, but when spring comes they desire change, so they rise nearer to the surface of the water, and form themselves into small shoals; the small shoals grow into larger ones, and at last, the large ones unite into one mighty host, led by the pilchard king. This army comes on past the Scilly Isles about the end of July, and for the next four months, the Cornish fishermen, their wives and children, are principally employed in catching, curing, and packing pilchards.
They are not kept for home consumption, but are salted, put into barrels, and sent to the Mediterranean; Italy and Spain affording the best market for them.
John Trevan rented a pilchard cellar. It was a square building, open in the middle, with a sloping roof round the four sides, which was supported by pillars of rough granite. It had gutters into which the oil ran from the fish when they lay in salt, and from the gutters, by reason of the inclined floor, into a pit or tank made to receive it.
Mr. and Mrs. Trevan were busily engaged in this cellar one morning towards the end of July. They were clearing away things that had accumulated during the winter, such as washing tubs, clothes lines, fire-wood, and old fish baskets, for the first boats from Newlyn were about to set sail that afternoon in quest of pilchards. They were likely to go some distance out to sea, as the shoals do not come inland until the month of August, when they are probably driven there by hunger.
Pilchards are caught near to the shore in a different manner from that which is employed in the open sea.
As they approach the land, they are enclosed in the seine, a large net which encircles the whole shoal. In this case it is the merchant who engages the fishermen to work for him at weekly wages. Huers, or look-out men, stand on the cliffs when the sea birds gather in great numbers, and watch for a red tinge on the water, which shows that a shoal is approaching. When the huer ascertains for certain that he is not deceived, he shouts, "Heva, heva"—found, found—and this is the signal for the boats to put off and secure the prize. He is furnished with a large bush of furze, which he waves to the right or left to indicate the direction they are to take, and where to cast the seine.
The fishermen who work for themselves use the drift-net, and their own boat is sufficient, while seine-fishing requires three boats; for enclosing the shoal of pilchards is only the first step towards securing it.
Dorothy and Judith were all excitement, and lessons were abandoned in the more engrossing occupation of helping to salt pilchards. They assisted their mother and grandfather to join the nets together into one. Each member of the crew which owned the "Mary Ann" had the same done at home, and at last all were joined again; thus an enormous net nearly three quarters of a mile in length was formed.
The "Mary Ann" was supplied with provisions, for she might have to spend two nights at sea. She left Newlyn about five o'clock; the glass was high, the sea calm, and the moon at its full.
"Look sharp for the birds," said John Trevan, when the boat was some miles out at sea; for gulls and other wild fowl pursue a shoal of pilchards, as well as hordes of dogfish, hake, and cod.
On and on they sailed, until the boat was about ten miles distant from the Scilly Isles; then John Trevan gave the word of command to lower the net. It was let down gently into the sea, and formed a wall more than twenty feet deep. The sails were then taken down, and boat and net allowed to drift with the tide.
"'Tis almost too bright a night for them," whispered one of the crew to his companions. "See how clear the water is. The moon shows the net."
"Hush," said another; "we are striking into the right course. I see hungry fish on every side, as if in pursuit."
And so it was, a few minutes later they came up to a fine shoal of pilchards, not so large as sometimes, but large enough for the net to secure fifteen thousand, which were scooped out by the aid of smaller nets, worked within the compass of the great seine-net. Some large fish were caught besides, that in chasing their prey had been captured themselves.
The "Mary Ann" was not the only well-laden boat that entered Newlyn harbour next morning; others had been equally successful; for as the shoal came against one drift-net, its course was altered until it fell in with another, and so on through the night.
John Trevan and his partners were met by their wives and children, all eager to help carry the pilchards to the cellar. They were laden with cowels, barrows, and tubs, and were soon hard at work. Some of the women having taken up one load remained in the cellar to cure them, while the rest went backwards and forwards until the fish were all brought up; then they too helped to cure them. It is done in this manner. The pilchards are cleaned and placed in tiers edgewise, and each tier is sprinkled with salt; they thus resemble a packet of sandwiches turned side uppermost, and remain in this condition for six weeks, in order to give time for the oil and water to drain out. They are thoroughly washed before being packed in barrels for export.
It was after nine o'clock ere the day's work was done. Then the cellar was locked, and the members of each family retired to their respective homes, in a condition agreeable neither to the sight or smell.
"I am right-down tired," said Dorothy, throwing herself into a chair, "and so must you be, grandfather; and poor father has been up all night. But only think, Judith, we've each earned two shillings; for you know the rule, father, threepence an hour, just as if we were working for strangers."
"Are you sure you do as much when you work for me as when you work for some of our rich merchants?" asked Mr. Trevan.
"Indeed I am," answered Dorothy. "But here comes mother with something nice for supper. I do think you are the very kindest mother to be found anywhere," she added.
"What can it be?" said Judith, for Mrs. Trevan had brought in her dish with a white napkin thrown over it.
"It's a squab pie; I'm sure it is by the shape of it," exclaimed Dorothy, "Am I right, mother?"
"Yes, I've kept my secret very well; but I wanted to surprise you, John, after your hard work."
A squab pie is highly esteemed in Cornwall; it is made of mutton steaks, onions, and sliced pippins placed in layers in a deep pie-dish, and covered with crust.
"But how did you find time to make it without our knowing?" asked Judith.
"I did it when you all went out, yesterday; and I slipped out of the cellar for a few minutes to look to the fire so as to warm it up again," replied her mother. "Now, father, let me help you."
"Not to-night, Philippa," answered the old man, "though I'm sorry to disappoint you. I'm over tired, and would rather sit still and look on. John," he added a few minutes later, "I've been asked to be a huer this year; do you advise me to accept the offer? I'm not sure my old weather-beaten bark will stand up against the fatigue."
"Nor do I wish you to risk it, father," said Mr. Trevan. "Leave such work now for younger men. I ought not to have allowed you to stand about salting pilchards all to-day."
"But I like it, John; and I should enjoy standing on Paul Hill to watch for the tinge on the sea, and to wave a branch of furze hither and thither when I'm sure the shoal is advancing. I've rarely been deceived. How wonderful it is to see the water alive with silver scales."
"So it is, father, and I know you've been a clever huer in your day, and since you were too old to command a ship; but you can't stand the fatigue of watching and waiting about for hours, this year. You are tired enough with to-day, and it's been easy work compared to a huer's, for he is exposed to rough winds and heavy rains. Will you not go to bed at once?"
"No, John, not until I've offered up my evening prayer. I want to thank God with you, for I'm so grateful to Him for giving you such a good take. We may say of the pilchards, we know not whence they come or whither they go, but that God sends them to us; and it seems to me a cause for deep thankfulness that they appear year after year; for after all, it is the Father's good pleasure to send them."
"So it is, and we will bless Him for His great kindness to us," responded, John reverently. "How apt we are to forget the many mercies which are scattered around us day by day, and to take them as if we deserved them instead of with thankful hearts."
"Right, John, very right. 'It is of the Lord's mercies that we are not consumed, because His compassion fail not. They are new every morning: great is His faithfulness.' I can sing of fresh mercies which have been scattered around my path through all my long, long pilgrimage."
"So can I; and so can we all," added Mrs. Trevan. "Now, father, let us pray together."
Dorothy and Judith were not too tired to join in grandfather's evening prayer.