<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_XXXIX">CHAPTER XXXIX.</SPAN><br/> <span class="small1">NOTICE TO QUIT.</span></h2>
<p>We were now come to the time of year which all good Christians
celebrate by goodwill and festivities. Even I, in my
humble way, had made some preparation for this holy period
by shooting Farmer Badcock's goose; which had long been in
my mind. Upon plucking, he turned out even whiter and better
than expectation, and the tender down clung to him, in a way
that showed his texture. I hung him up in a fine through-draught,
and rejoiced in the thought of him every time my
head came in between his legs. Neither did he fall away when
he came to roasting.</p>
<p>But when I had put him down, upon the Christmas morning,
with intent to stick thereby, and baste him up to one o'clock,
dipping bits of bread beneath him, as he might begin to drip,
and winning thus foretaste of him—all my plans were overset
by a merry party coming, and demanding "ferry." With my
lovely goose beginning just to spread his skin a little, and hiss
sweetly at the fire, up I ran, with resolution not to ferry anybody,
but to cook my goose aright.</p>
<p>Nevertheless it might not be so. Here were three young
fellows ramping of the high nobility, swearing to come aboard
and stick me, if I would not ferry them. It was not that I
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_251">[Pg 251]</SPAN></span>
feared of this, but that I beheld a guinea spinning in the morning
sun, which compelled me to forego, and leave my poor
young goose to roll around, and try to roast himself. Therefore
I backed him from the fire, and laid half a pound of slow lard
on his breast, and trusted his honour to keep alive.</p>
<p>These young joyous fellows now were awake to everything.
They had begun the morning bravely with a cup of rum and
lemon, then a tender grill of beef, and a quart of creamy ale,
every one accordingly. And they meant to keep the day up to
no less a pattern, being all of fine old birth, and bound to act
accordingly. However, it had been said by some one, that they
ought to go to church; and they happened to feel the strength
of this, and vowed that the devil should catch the hindmost,
unless they struck out for it.</p>
<p>Hence I came to win the pleasure of their company, that day.
Their nearest church was the little, simple, quiet old church at
Ashford. From my ferry I could see it; and it often made
me sigh, because it looked so tranquil. Sweet green land
sloped up towards it, with a trace of crooked footpaths, and the
nicks of elbowed hedges, where the cows came down and stood.
Also from it, looking downward through the valley of the Tawe,
may be seen a spread of beauty, and of soft variety, and of
largeness opening larger with the many winding waters, to the
ocean unbeheld, that the sternest man must sigh, and look
again and look again.</p>
<p>A genuine parson now was master of this queer old quiet
church; a man who gave his life entire for the good of other
men. In a little hut he lived, which the clerk's house overrode,
just at the turning of the lane, upon the steep ascent, and
where the thunder-showers flooded it. All the poor folk soon
began to dwell upon his noble nature, and to feel that here
was some one fit to talk of Saviours. Miles around they came
to hear him, so that he was forced to stand on a stool in the
porch, and speak to them. For speaking it was, and not
preaching; which made all the difference.</p>
<p>These three gay young sparks leaped lightly into the bow
of my ferry-boat, and bade me pull for my very life, unless
I desired to be flung into the water then and there. A
strong spring-tide was running up, and I was forced to pull
the starboard oar with all my might to keep the course. My
passengers were carrying on with every sort of quip and crank,
and jokes, that made the boat to tilt, when suddenly a rush of
water flooded their silk stockings. I thought at first that the
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_252">[Pg 252]</SPAN></span>
bung was out, and told them not to be frightened; but in
another breath I saw that it was a great deal worse than that.
The water was rushing in through a mighty hole in the planks
of the larboard bow; and in three minutes we must be
swamped. "All aft, all aft in a moment!" I cried; "it is our
only chance of reaching shore." The gallants were sobered at
once by fright, and I bundled them into the stern-sheets, sat
on the aftmost thwart myself, and for the lives of us all pulled
back towards the bank we had lately quitted. By casting all
the weight thus astern, I raised the leak up to the water-line,
except when we plunged to the lift of the oars, and the water
poured in less rapidly now, with the set of the tide on our starboard
beam. However, with all this, and all my speed, and
my passengers showing great presence of mind, we barely
managed to touch the bank and jump out, when down she
foundered.</p>
<p>At first I was at a loss altogether even to guess how this
thing had happened; for the boat seemed perfectly sound and
dry at the time of our leaving the shore. But as soon as the
tide was out, and I could get at her, I perceived that a trick of
entirely fiendish cunning and atrocity had been played upon
me. A piece of planking a foot in length and from eight to
ten inches wide had been cut out with a key-hole saw, at the
time she was lying high and dry, and doubtless before daybreak.
This had been then replaced most carefully with
a little caulking, so that it was water-tight without strong
pressure from outside; but the villain had contrived it, knowing
in what state of tide I was likely next to work the ferry, so
that the rush of water could not fail to beat the piece in.</p>
<p>It made my blood run cold to think of the stealthiness of
this attempt, as well as the skill it was compassed with, for the
chances were ten to one almost in favour of its drowning me,
and leaving a bad name behind me too, for having drowned my
passengers. And to this it must have come if so much as a
single woman had been in the boat that day. For these, when
in danger, always do the very worst thing possible; and the
manager of this clever scheme knew of course that my freight
was likely, on the Christmas morning, to be chiefly female.
Luckily I had refused two boat-loads of young and attractive
womankind, not from religious feeling only, but because I had
to chop a trencherful of stuffing.</p>
<p>This affair impressed me so with a sense of awe and reverence,
and a certainty that Parson Chowne must be in direct
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_253">[Pg 253]</SPAN></span>
receipt of counsel from the evil one, that my mind was good to
be off at once, and thank the Lord for escaping him. For let
us see what must have happened but for the goodness and
fatherly care of a merciful Providence over me. The boat
would have sunk in the very midst of the rapid and icy river.
David Llewellyn, with his accustomed fortitude, would have
endeavoured to swim ashore, and yet could not have resisted
the claims of three or even four young women, who doubtless
would have laid hold of him, all screaming, splashing, and
dragging him down. The mind refuses to contemplate such a
picture any longer!</p>
<p>This matter could not be kept quiet, as the first attempt had
been, but spread from house to house, and gained in size from
each successive tongue, until the man at the foot of the bridge,
who naturally detested me, whispered into every ear, that it
was high time to have a care of that interloping Welshman,
who had drowned six fine young noblemen, for the sake of
their buckles and watches. And my courage was at so low an
ebb, that when he retreated into his house, I could not even
bring my mind to the power of kicking his door in. Hence
that calumny, not being quenched, went the round of the
neighbourhood; and I might as well haul down my sign, and
the hopes of any public-house became a fading vision. And of
all the fine young women who had set their hearts upon
keeping it (as I described my intention to them), and who had
picked up bits of Welsh, for an access to my heart in all its
patriotism, there was not one worth looking at, or fit to be
a landlady, who took the trouble to come near me, in the
frosty weather.</p>
<p>When a man is forsaken by the world, he must have recourse
to reason. And if only borne up thereby, and with a little
cash in hand, he can wait till the world comes round again.
This was my position now. I never had behaved so well in all
my life before, I think; though always conscientious. But of
late I had felt, as it were, in one perpetual round of bitter
wrestling with the evil one. Men of a loose kind may not see
that this was tenfold hard upon me, from my props being
knocked away. I mean my entire trust and leaning upon the
ancient Church of England, which (perhaps by repulsion from
those fellows that came after our old ham, as well as our
proper parson's knowledge of soles and the way to fry them)
had increased upon me so, that my heart leaped up whenever
I heard the swing of a bell on Sunday. Some of this perhaps
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_254">[Pg 254]</SPAN></span>
was owing to my thoughts of Newton clock, and twelve
shillings now due to me from my captainship thereof: but how
could this loyal and ecclesiastical fervour thrive, while a man
in holy orders did such unholy things to me?</p>
<p>The only one with faith enough, and sense enough, to stand
by me now, through this bitter trial, was that beautiful young
lady, whom I did admire so. And if till now I admired only,
now I did adore her. Nanette did for herself with me, and all
her hopes of ever being Mrs David Llewellyn, by poking up
her little toes,—and I saw that they were all square almost,—and
with guttural noises crying that on board my boat she
would not dare. Miss Carey laughed at her, and stepped with
her beautiful boots on board of me; and from that moment
she might do exactly as she pleased with me.</p>
<p>However my ferry was knocked on the head; and all the
hopes of a wife and family, and even a public-house and
skittles, which I had long been building up, as well as to train
our Bunny for barmaid; which must always be done quite
young, to get the proper style of it, and thorough acquaintance
with measures, how to make them look quite brim up when they
are only three-parts full. All golden dreams will vanish thus;
no life of smiling Boniface, but of gun-muzzles was before me;
no casting-up of shot by pence, but ramming down on pounds
of powder. Let that pass; my only wish is to conceal, in the
strictest manner, little trifles about myself.</p>
<p>Isabel Carey was so shocked at hearing of our danger (as by
me distinctly told without a word of flourish), that she made
me promise strongly to give up my ferrying. This I was
becoming ready, more and more every day, to do; especially as
nobody ever now came down for porterage. But I told the
lady how hard it was to have formed such a valuable trade, or
you might say an institution; and then to lose it all, because
of certain private enmities. What she said or did hereon is
strictly a family question, and can in no way concern the
public, since I hauled my flag down.</p>
<p>And now I gained more insight into my great enemy's
schemes and doings, than I could have acquired while engaged
so much at ferry. For time allowed me to maintain that
strict watch upon Narnton Court, which was now become my
duty, as well as an especial pleasure, for the following reason.
I began to see most clearly that the foul outrage upon my boat
must have been perpetrated by one or both of those savage
fellows who were employed as spies upon this great house, from
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_255">[Pg 255]</SPAN></span>
the landward side. They must have forded the river, which is
not more than three feet deep in places, when the tide is
out, and no floods coming down. These two cunning barbarians
came of course from the Nympton rookery, but were
lodging for the present in a hole they had scooped for themselves
in the loneliest part of Braunton Burrows. Of course
they durst not go about in a peopled and civilised neighbourhood,
with such an absence of apparel as they could indulge at
home. Still they were unsightly objects; and decent people
gave them a wide berth, when possible. But my firm intention
was to grapple with these savage scoundrels, and to prove at
their expense what a civilised Welshman is, and how capable
of asserting his commercial privileges. Only as they carried
knives, I durst not meet them both at once; and even should
I catch them singly, some care was advisable, so as take them
off their guard; because I would not lower myself to the use
of anything more barbarous than an honest cudgel.</p>
<p>However, although I watched and waited, and caught sight
of them more than once, especially at night-time when they
roved most freely, it was long before I found it prudent to
bear down on the enemy. Not from any fear of them, but for
fear of slaying them, as I might be forced to do, if they rushed
with steel at me.</p>
<p>One night, after the turn of the days, and with mild
weather now prevailing, and a sense of spring already fluttering
in the valleys, I sat in a dark embrasure at the end of
Narnton Court. There had been more light than usual in the
windows of the great dining-room, which now was very seldom
used for hospitable purposes. And now two gentlemen came
forth, as if for a little air, to take a turn on the river-terrace.
It did not cost me long to learn that one was good Sir Philip
Bampfylde, and the other that very wicked Chowne. The
latter had manifestly been telling some of his choicest stories,
and held the upper hand as usual.</p>
<p>"General, take my arm. The flags are rough, and the night
is of the darkest. You must gravel this terrace, for the sake
of your guests, after your port-wine."</p>
<p>"Dick," said the General, with a sigh, for he was a most
hospitable man, and accustomed to the army; "Dick, thou
hast hardly touched my port; and I like not to have it
slighted, sir."</p>
<p>What excuse the Parson made I did not hear, but knew
already that one of his countless villanies was his rude contempt
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_256">[Pg 256]</SPAN></span>
of the gift of God, as vouchsafed to Noah, and confirmed
by the very first rainbow, which continues the colours thereof
up to this time of writing.</p>
<p>Sir Philip leaned on the parapet some twenty yards to
windward of me, and he sniffed the fine fresh smell of sea-weed
and sea-water coming up the river with a movement of
four knots an hour. And in his heart he thanked the Lord,
very likely without knowing it. Then he seemed to sigh a
little, and to turn to Chowne, and say—</p>
<p>"Dick, this is not as it should be. Look at all this place,
and up and down all this length of river; every light you can
see burning, is in a house that 'longs to me. And who is now
to have it all? It used to make me proud; but now it makes
me very humble. You are a parson; tell me, Dick, what have
I done to deserve it all?"</p>
<p>The Rev. Richard Stoyle Chowne had not—whatever his
other vices were—one grain of pious hypocrisy in all his foul
composition. If he had, he might have flourished, and with
his native power, must have been one of the foremost men of
this, or any other age. But his pride allowed him never to
let in pretence religious into the texture of his ways. A worse
man need not be desired: and yet he did abhor all cant, to
such a degree that he made a mock of his own church-services.</p>
<p>"General, I have nought to say. You have asked this
question more than once. You know what my opinion is."</p>
<p>"I know that you have the confidence, sir, every honourable
man must have, in my poor son's innocence. You support it
against every one."</p>
<p>"Against all the world: against even you, when you allow
yourself to doubt it. Tush! I would not twice think of it.
However many candles burn"—this was a touch of his nasty
sarcasm, which he never could deny himself—"up and
down the valley, General, no son of yours, however wild, and
troubled in expenditure, could ever shape or even dream of
anything dishonourable."</p>
<p>"I hope not—I hope to God, not," Sir Philip said, with a
little gasp, as if he were fearing otherwise: "Dick, you are
my godson, and you have been the greatest comfort to me;
because you never would believe——"</p>
<p>"Not another word, General. You must not dwell on this
matter so. The children were fine little dears of course, very
clever and very precious——"</p>
<p>"Oh, if you only knew the words, Dick, my little granddaughter
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_257">[Pg 257]</SPAN></span>
could come out with! Scarcely anything you could
think of would have been too big for her little mouth. And
if she could not do it once, she never left it till she did.
Where it came from I could not tell, for we are not great at
languages: but it must have been of her mother's race. And
the boy, though not with gifts of that sort—oh, you ought to
have seen his legs, Dick—at least till he took the whooping-cough!"
The stately old gentleman leaned, and dropped a
tear perhaps into the river Tawe.</p>
<p>"General, I understand it all," said Chowne, though he
never had a child, by reason of the Almighty's mercy to the
next generation: "of course these pretty children were a
great delight to every one. But affairs of this sort happen in
all ancient families. The mere extent of land appears to open
for clandestine graves——"</p>
<p>"That wicked devilish story, Dick! Did you tell me, or
did you not, to take it as the Fiend's own lie?"</p>
<p>"A lie, of course, as concerns the Captain: from their want
of knowledge. But concerning some one else, true enough, I
fear, I fear."</p>
<p>Both men had by this time very nearly said their say
throughout. The General seemed to be overcome, and the
Parson to be growing weary of a subject often treated in discourse
between them. "Before you go in the morning, Dick,"
said the old man, now recovering, "I wish to consult you
about a matter nearly concerning young Isabel. She is a
distant cousin of yours. You thoroughly understand the law,
of which I have very little knowledge. Perhaps you will
meet me in the book-room, for half an hour's quiet talk, before
we go to breakfast."</p>
<p class="pmb3">"I cannot do it, Sir Philip. I have my own affairs to see
to: I must be off when the moon is up. I cannot sleep in
your house, this night."</p>
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