<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.</SPAN><br/> <span class="small1">THE CORONER AND THE CORONET.</span></h2>
<p>An officer of high repute had lately been set over us, to hold
account of the mischief, and to follow evidence, and make the
best he could of it when anybody chose to die without giving
proper notice. He called himself "Coroner of the King;" and
all the doctors, such as they were, made it a point that he must
come, whenever there was a dead man or woman who had died
without their help.</p>
<p>Now all about the storm of sand, and all about the shipwreck,
was known in every part of the parish, before the church clock
had contrived, in gratitude to Hezekiah, to strike the noon of
Monday. Every child that went to the well knew the truth
of everything; and every woman of Newton and Nottage had
formed from the men her own opinion, and was ready to stand
thereby, and defy all the other women.</p>
<p>Nevertheless some busy doctor (who had better been in the
stocks) took it for a public duty to send notice and demand for
the Coroner to sit upon us. The wrath of the parish (now just
beginning to find some wreck, that would pay for the ropes)
was so honest and so grave, that the little doctor was compelled
to run and leave his furniture. And so it always ought to be
with people who are meddlesome.</p>
<p>It came to my knowledge that this must happen, and that I
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_65">[Pg 65]</SPAN></span>
was bound to help in it, somewhere about middle-day of Tuesday;
at a time when I was not quite as well as I find myself
when I have no money. For, being pleased with my luck perhaps,
and not content quite to smoke in the dark, and a little
dry after the glow-worms, it happened (I will not pretend to
say how) that I dropped into the "Jolly Sailors," to know
what the people could be about, making such a great noise as
they were, and keeping a quiet man out of his bed.</p>
<p>There I smelled a new tobacco, directly I was in the room;
and somebody (pleased with my perception) gave me several
pipes of it, with a thimbleful—as I became more and more
agreeable—of a sort of rum-and-water. And, confining myself,
as my principle is, to what the public treat me to, it is not
quite out of the question that I may have been too generous.
And truly full I was of grief, upon the following morning, that
somebody had made me promise, in a bubbling moment, to be
there again, and bring my fiddle, on the Tuesday night.</p>
<p>Now, since the death of my dear wife, who never put up
with my fiddle (except when I was courting her), it had seemed
to my feelings to be almost a levity to go fiddling. Also I
knew what everybody would begin to say of me; but the landlord,
foreseeing a large attendance after the Coroner's inquest,
would not for a moment hear of any breach of my fiddle pledge.</p>
<p>Half of Newton, and perhaps all Nottage, went to Sker the
following day to see the Coroner, and to give him the benefit
of their opinions. And another piece of luck there was to
tempt them in that direction. For the ship which had been
wrecked and had disappeared for a certain time, in a most atrocious
manner, was rolled about so by the tide and a shift of the
wind on Monday, that a precious large piece of her stern was in
sight from the shore on Tuesday morning. It lay not more than
a cable's length from low-water mark, and was heaved up so that
we could see as far as the starboard mizzen-chains. Part of the
taffrail was carried away, and the carving gone entirely, but the
transom and transom-knees stood firm; and of the ship's name
done in gold I could make out in large letters <span class="font11"><span class="smcap">Ta Lucia</span></span>; and
underneath, in a curve, and in smaller letters, <span class="font09"><span class="smcap">Ador</span></span>.</p>
<p>Of course no one except myself could make head or tail of this;
but after thinking a little while, I was pretty sure of the meaning
of it—namely, that the craft was Portuguese, called the
Santa Lucia, and trading from San Salvador, the capital of
Brazils. And in this opinion I was confirmed by observing
through my spy-glass, copper bolt-heads of a pattern such as I
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_66">[Pg 66]</SPAN></span>
had seen at Lisbon, but never in any British ship. However,
I resolved, for the present, to keep my opinion to myself, unless
it were demanded upon good authority. For it made me
feel confused in mind, and perhaps a little uneasy, when, being
struck by some resemblance, I pulled from the lining of my
hat a leaf of a book, upon which I copied all that could be
made out of the letters, each side of the tiller of my new boat;
and now I found them to be these,—<span class="smcap">uc</span> from the starboard side,
just where they would have stood in Lucia—and <span class="smcap">dor</span> from the
further end of the line, just as in San Salvador.</p>
<p>The sands were all alive with people, and the rocks, and
every place where anything good might have drifted. For
Evan Thomas could scarcely come at a time of such affliction
to assert his claims of wreck, and to belabour right and left.
Therefore, for a mile or more, from where the land begins to
dip, and the old stone wall, like a jagged cord, divides our
parish from Kenfig, hundreds of figures might be seen, running
along the grey wet sands, and reflected by their brightness.
The day was going for two of the clock, and the tide growing
near to the turn of ebb; and the landsprings oozing down from
the beach, spread the whole of the flat sands so, with a silver
overlaying, that without keen sight it was hard to tell where
the shore ended and sea began. And a great part of this
space was sprinkled with naked feet going pattering—boys and
girls, and young women and men, who had left their shoes up
high on the rocks to have better chance in the racing.</p>
<p>Now it is not for me to say that all or half of these good
people were so brisk because they expected any fine thing for
themselves. I would not even describe them as waiting in
readiness for the force of fortune by the sea administered. I
believe that all were most desirous of doing good, if possible.
In the first case, to the poor people drowned; but if too late,
then to console any disconsolate relations: failing of which, it
would be hard if anybody should blame them for picking up
something for themselves.</p>
<p>"What! you here, mother Probyn?" I cried, coming upon
a most pious old woman, who led the groaning at Zoar Chapel,
and being for the moment struck out of all my manners by
sight of her.</p>
<p>"Indeed, and so I am, old Davy," she answered, without
abashment, and almost too busy to notice me; "the Lord may
bless my poor endeavours to rescue them poor Injuns. But I
can't get on without a rake. If I had only had the sense to
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_67">[Pg 67]</SPAN></span>
bring my garden-rake. There are so many little things, scarcely
as big as cockleshells; and the waves do drag them away from
me. Oh, there, and there goes another! Gwenny, if I don't
smack you!"</p>
<p>All these people, and all their doings, I left with a sort of
contempt, perhaps, such as breaks out on me now and then at
any very great littleness. And I knew that nothing worth wet of
the knees could be found with the ebb-tide running, and ere
the hold of the ship broke up.</p>
<p>So I went toward the great house, whose sorrows and whose
desolation they took little heed of. And nothing made me
feel more sad—strange as it may seem, and was—than to think
of poor black Evan, thus unable to stand up and fight for his
unrighteous rights.</p>
<p>In the great hall were six bodies, five of strong young men
laid quiet, each in his several coffin; and the other of a little
child in a simple dress of white, stretched upon a piece of board.
Death I have seen in all his manners, since I was a cabin-boy,
and I took my hat off to the bodies, as I had seen them do
abroad; but when I saw the small dead child, a thrill and pang
of cold went through me. I made sure of nothing else, except
that it was dear Bardie. That little darling whom I loved, for
her gifts direct from God, and her ways, so out of the way to
all other children—it struck my heart with a power of death,
that here this lively soul was dead.</p>
<p>When a man makes a fool of himself, anybody may laugh at
him; and this does him good, perhaps, and hardens him against
more trouble. But bad as I am, and sharp as I am, in other
people's opinion (and proud sometimes to think of it), I could
not help a good gulp of a tear, over what I believed to be the
body of poor little Bardie. For that child had such nice ways,
and took such upper hand of me; that, expecting to find a
Captain always, especially among women——</p>
<p>"Old Davy, I 'ants 'a. Old Davy, 'hen is 'a coming?"</p>
<p>By the union-jack, it was as good as a dozen kegs of rum to
me. There was no mistaking the sweetest and clearest voice
ever heard outside of a flute. And presently began pit-pat of
the prettiest feet ever put in a shoe, down the great oak staircase.
She held on by the rails, and showed no fear at all about
it, though the least slip might have killed her. Then she saw
the sad black sight after she turned the corner, and wondered
at the meaning of it, and her little heart stood still. As she
turned to me in awe, and held out both hands quivering, I
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_68">[Pg 68]</SPAN></span>
caught her up, and spread my grey beard over her young
frightened eyes, and took her out of sight of all those cold and
very dreadful things.</p>
<p>I had never been up the stairs before in that dark and
ancient house; and the length, and the width, and the dreariness,
and the creaking noises, frightened me; not so much for
my own sake (being never required to sleep there), but for the
tender little creature, full already of timid fancies, who must
spend the dark nights there. And now the house, left empty
of its noise, and strength, and boastfulness, had only five more
ghosts to wander silent through the silent places. And this
they began the very night after their bodies were in the churchyard.</p>
<p>The Coroner came on an old white pony, nearly four hours
after the time for which his clerk had ordered us. Being used,
for my part, to royal discipline, and everything done to the
minute fixed, with the captain's voice like the crack of a gun,
I was vexed and surprised; but expected him to give us some
reason, good or bad. Instead of that he roared out to us, with
his feet still in both stirrups, "Is there none of you Taffies
with manners enough to come and hold a gentleman's horse?
Here you, Davy Jones, you are long enough, and lazy enough;
put your hand to the bridle, will you?"</p>
<p>This was to me, who was standing by, in the very height of
innocence, having never yet seen any man appointed to sit upon
dead bodies, and desiring to know how he could help them. I
did for his Honour all I could, although his manner of speech
was not in any way to my liking. But my rule has always
been that of the royal navy, than which there is no wiser. If
my equal insults me, I knock him down; if my officer does it,
I knock under.</p>
<p>Meanwhile our people were muttering "Sassenach, Sassenach!"
And from their faces it was plain that they did not
like an Englishman to sit upon Cymric bodies. However, it
was the old, old thing. The Welsh must do all the real work;
and the English be paid for sitting upon them after they are
dead.</p>
<p>"I never sate on a black man yet, and I won't sit on a black
man now," the Coroner said, when he was sure about oats
enough for his pony; "I'll not disgrace his Majesty's writ by
sitting upon damned niggers."</p>
<p>"Glory be to God, your Honour!" Stradling Williams cried,
who had come as head of the jury: clerk he was of Newton
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_69">[Pg 69]</SPAN></span>
Church, and could get no fees unless upon a Christian burial:
"we thought your Honour would hardly put so great a disgrace
upon us; but we knew not how the law lay."</p>
<p>"The law requires no Christian man," pronounced the
Crowner, that all might hear, "to touch pitch, and defile himself.
Both in body and soul, Master Clerk, to lower and defile
himself!"</p>
<p>Hereupon a high hard screech, which is all we have in
Wales for the brave hurrah of Englishmen, showed that all the
jury were of one accord with the Coroner: and I was told by
somebody that all had shaken hands, and sworn to strike work,
rather than put up with misery of conscience.</p>
<p>"But, your Honour," said Mr Lewis, bailiff to Colonel
Lougher, "if we hold no quest on the black men, how shall
we certify anything about this terrible shipwreck?"</p>
<p>"The wreck is no concern of mine," answered the Crowner,
crustily: "it is not my place to sit upon planks, but upon
Christian bodies. Do you attend to your own business, and
leave mine to me, sir."</p>
<p>The bailiff, being a nice quiet man, thought it best to say no
more. But some of the people who were thronging from every
direction to see his Honour, told him about the little white
baby found among the bladder-weed. He listened to this, and
then he said,—</p>
<p>"Show me this little white infant discovered among the
black men. My business here is not with infants, but with
five young smothered men. However, if there be an infant of
another accident, and of Christian colour, I will take it as a
separate case, and damn the county in the fees."</p>
<p>We assured his lordship, as every one now began to call him
(in virtue of his swearing so, which no doubt was right in a
man empowered to make other people swear), we did our best
at any rate to convince the Crowner, that over and above all
black men, there verily was a little child, and, for all one could
tell, a Christian child, entitled to the churchyard, and good
enough for him to sit on. And so he entered the house to see it.</p>
<p>But if he had sworn a little before (and more than I durst
set down for him), he certainly swore a great deal now, and
poured upon us a bitter heat of English indignation. All of
the jury were taken aback; and I as a witness felt most
uneasy; until we came to understand that his Honour's wrath
was justly kindled on account of some marks on the baby's
clothes.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_70">[Pg 70]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>"A coronet!" he cried, stamping about; "a coronet on my
young lord's pinafore, and you stupid oafs never told me!"</p>
<p>Nobody knew except myself (who had sailed with an earl
for a captain) what the meaning of this thing was; and when
the clerk of the church was asked, rather than own his ignorance,
he said it was part of the arms of the crown; and the
Crowner was bound like a seal by it.</p>
<p class="pmb3">This explanation satisfied all the people of the parish, except
a few far-going Baptists, with whom it was a point of faith
always to cavil and sneer at every "wind of doctrine" as they
always called it—the scent of which could be traced, anyhow,
to either the parson or the clerk, or even the gravedigger. But
I was content to look on and say nothing, having fish to sell,
at least twice a-week, and finding all customers orthodox, until
they utter bad shillings.</p>
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