<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_LIII">CHAPTER LIII.</SPAN><br/> <span class="small1">BEATING UP FOR THE NAVY.</span></h2>
<p>My other reason for setting down some short account of that
evening was to give you a little peace, and sense of gratitude
to the Lord, for our many quiet sunsets, and the tranquillity of
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_357">[Pg 357]</SPAN></span>
our shores. It really seems as if no other land was blest as
ours is, with quiet orderly folk inside it, and good rulers over
it, and around it not too much of sun or moon, or anything,
unless it may be, now and then, a little bit of cloudiness.
And this love of our country seems ever to be strongest,
whether at departing for the wars with turbulent nations, or
upon returning home, as soon as we have conquered them.
But now for a long time, I shall have very little peace to dwell
upon.</p>
<p>At Narnton Court I found no solace for my warmth of
feeling. Polly had been sent out of the way, on purpose,
because I was coming; which was a most unhandsome thing
on the part of Mrs Cockhanterbury. For the very expectation
which had buoyed me up at a flattish period, and induced me
to do without three quids of cross-cut negrohead, was my
simple and humble looking forward to my Polly. I knew
that I was a fool, of course; but still I could not help it; and
I had got on so well among young women always, that I found
it very hard to miss the only chance I cared for. I feared
that my age was beginning to tell; for often, since I had been
ashore, my rheumatics had come back again. Neither was
that my only grief and source of trouble at this time; but
many other matters quite as grave combined against me.
Heaviside was not there to talk, and make me hug my singleness;
nor even Jerry Toms, nor the cook, who used to let me
teach her. It was not that all these had left the place for any
mischief. In an ancient household such a loss is not allowable.
All meant to come back again, when it suited their opportunities,
and each perceived that the house was sure to go to the
dogs in the absence of themselves and one another. Heaviside
had found Nanette (in spite of my best prognostics) overget
her seventh occasion of producing small Crappos, and his
natural disappointment with her led to such words that he
shouldered his bundle and made off for Spithead, in company
with Jerry, who was compelled to forsake his creditors. And
as for the cook, I did hear, though unable to believe it, that
she was in trouble about a young fellow scarcely worthy to
turn her jack.</p>
<p>In other respects I found that nothing of much importance
had occurred since I was there in the summer-time. Sir Philip
continued to trust in the Lord, and the Squire to watch the
sunsets; neither had the latter been persuaded to absolve his
brother. The Captain had been at home one or two days,
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_358">[Pg 358]</SPAN></span>
inquiring into my discovery of the buried dolls. He did not
attach so much importance to this matter as his father had
done, but said that it made a mysterious question even more
mysterious. And failing, as a blunt sailor would, to make
either head or tail of it, and being disgusted with his brother
for refusing to see him, he vowed to remain in the house no
longer, but set off for Pomeroy Castle again, where he had
formed a close friendship with the eldest son of the owner.
His lady-love, the fair Isabel, was not living there now, but
might very easily be met with; for on coming of age three
years ago, she had taken possession of her domain, "Carey
Park," a magnificent place adjoining the Pomeroy property.
It was said that the Earl had done his best to catch the young
heiress for his son, and therefore had made a pretext of the old
charge against the Captain, for the purpose of putting a stop to
communication with him. But his son, Lord Mohun, upon
finding how the young lady's heart was settled, withdrew his
suit (like a man of honour), and all the more promptly, perhaps,
because he had made up his mind to another lady before
Miss Carey came to them.</p>
<p>It was said that the Captain might now have persuaded the
beautiful heiress to marry him, and finish their long affection,
if he could have thoroughly made up his mind that honour
would bear him out in it. For her confidence was so perfect
in him, that she left it to his own judgment, herself perhaps
longing to put an end to their wearisome uncertainty. Sir
Philip heard of it, and came down, to implore them thus to
settle themselves. And Captain Bampfylde was so hard set by
the nature of the case, that he might have been enticed away from
what his conscience told him. This was that the solemn oath
which he had taken in the church, with Isabel beside him, to
purge himself of all foul charges (ere he made another guilty,
if himself were guilty), could not thus be laid aside without
a loss of honour. Sir Philip would be the last man in the
world to counsel dishonest actions; but being an old man, and
reluctant that his race should all expire, he looked upon that
sacrament as no more than a piece of sacrilege, or a hasty
pledge of which the Lord would never take advantage.</p>
<p>Nobody knows what might have happened with Captain
Bampfylde so beset, and longing to think that he ought to act
as everybody told him: but he begged for a night to think
over it; and in the morning he received his appointment to
the Bellona. Even Sir Philip could not deny that the hand
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_359">[Pg 359]</SPAN></span>
and the will of the Almighty must herein be recognised. And
there was a chance of a brush with Spain, about the Nootka
Sound, just then; and if anything makes a sailor's fortune, it
is a fight with these fine old Dons. A Frenchman is sure to
be captured, but not half so sure as a Spaniard; and the
hidalgoes do turn out good gold, with good manners behind it.
Many ships have I boarded, but with brightest alacrity always
a good fat old Spaniard.</p>
<p>Therefore the Captain brushed away any little weakness,
and set out for Spithead bravely, in a bachelor condition.
And after trying to collect what news there was at Narnton,
and finding that I must not think of meeting my dear Polly, I
quietly drew my travelling-money, and set forth to join him.</p>
<p>Only every one will reproach me, and have right to do so,
if I fail to tell the latest tidings of that Parson Chowne.
People seemed to like this man, because they never could
make him out, and nearly all the world is pleased to hear of
the rest being vanquished. It seems that a wholly new
bishop arose, by reason of the other dying, and this gentleman
swore on the Bible to have things in order. When he heard
of Chowne, and his high defiance of all former bishops, he said,
"Fie, fie! this must not be; I will very soon put this to
rights." To follow up this resolution he appointed Tiverton,
and the old church of St Peter, for Chowne to bring his young
people up to a noble confirmation; also for a visitation of the
clergy all around; such as they have now and then, to stop
the spread of king's evil.</p>
<p>His holiness the Bishop was surprised to receive this answer:
"My dear Lord,—My meet is at Calverly on the day you
speak of. We always find a fox hard by; and if he should
make for Stoodleigh coverts, I may come down the Bolham
road in time to meet your Lordship. At any rate, I shall
dine at 'The Angel,' somewhere between three and five o'clock,
and hope to find you there, and have a pleasant evening with
you.—Yours very truly, <span class="smcap">R. S. Chowne</span>.</p>
<p>"<i>P.S.</i>—If you bring your two Archdeacons, we will have a
rubber: but I never go beyond guinea points."</p>
<p>The whole of this was written with Cumberland lead, on the
back of a paper, showing how to treat hounds in distemper;
and the Bishop was displeased about it, and declined his
society; especially as he had invitation to the good Tidcombe
Rectory. And there he was treated so hospitably by a very
handsome family, that he put up his glass of a noble wine, and
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_360">[Pg 360]</SPAN></span>
saw the sun set through it, and vowed that his Magna Charta,
or Habeas Corpus, or Writ of Error—I never can remember
which—but at any rate that his royal orders should fall out of
his apron-pocket, if he failed to execute them.</p>
<p>In this state of mind he received a letter from Parson Chowne
himself, full of respect, and most cleverly turned, as well as
describing the Parson's grief at being unable to bring to his
holiness any one fit to lay hands upon. The standard set
before them had been (before laying on of hands) to say the
Lord's Prayer backwards; and there was not one of them up
to it. This angered the Bishop to such a degree, that he
ordered out his heavy coach with the six long-tailed black
horses, and the coachman with cocked-hat and flowing wig,
and four great footmen shouldering blunderbusses; himself
sate inside with his crosier and mitre, and lawn sleeves, and
all the rest of it. Now this was just the very thing the refractory
Parson expected; therefore he rode round overnight
and bade every farmer in the neighbourhood send all his hands
with pickaxes and shovels, by four o'clock the next morning:
also he gathered all his own men there, as well as the unclad
folk who were entirely at his orders. Then he sent for
Parson Jack, as being the strongest man about there, and
imparted his intention to him, and placed him over the
workmen.</p>
<p>Early in the afternoon the Bishop's state-carriage was descried
moving up the Tiverton highroad, with a noble and imposing
aspect. Before he arrived at the cross-road leading off to
Nympton Rectory, his Lordship was surprised to see a great
collection of people standing on a hill above the road, and all
saluting him with the deepest respect. "Not so bad after all,"
he exclaimed; "brother Chowne has brought his men into
good order, which is the noblest use of the Church. Ah! they
don't see a bishop every day, and they know when a thing is
worth looking at, for their faces are black with astonishment.
Holloa, Bob! what's that?"</p>
<p>"Up with the glass, your Lordship," the coachman shouted
back; "or it will be all over with you. We are in a damned
slough, and no mistake."</p>
<p>And so they were. His Lordship had no time to slam the
windows up, before the coach lay wallowing in a bog of nighty
blackness. In it poured, and filled the coach, and nearly
smothered his Lordship, who was dragged out at last with the
greatest trouble, as black as if he were dipped in pitch. For
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_361">[Pg 361]</SPAN></span>
the Parson had done a most shameful thing, and too bad for
even him to think of. He had taken up his private road, and
dug out the ground some six feet deep, and then (by means of
carts and harrows) transferred to it the contents of a quagmire,
which lay handy, and spread the surface again with road-dirt,
so that it looked as sound as a rock. Having seen with a telescope
from his window the grand success of his engineering, he
sent down a groom in smart livery, to present his compliments
to the traveller who had happened to lose his way, and fall into
a moor-hole, and was there anything he could do to mitigate
that misfortune? But the Bishop sputtered out through his
chattering teeth that he hoped to hear no more of him, and
that none but a Devonshire man was fit to oversee Devonshire
parsons. And this made the fifth bishop conquered by Chowne.</p>
<p>To return to our noble selves—that is to say, to the better
people dealt with in our history. At the close of this year
1790, to wit, upon Christmas-day of that excellent year of
grace, no less than three of us dined together (of course, with a
good many others also) in the Captain's cabin of the Bellona,
74-gun ship of the British Navy, carrying also six carronades.
These three were, Captain Drake Bampfylde, of course, the
Honourable Rodney Bluett, now our second lieutenant, and the
Master of the ship, whose name was something like "David
Llewellyn." This latter was now remarkable for the dignity of
his appearance and the gravity of his deportment; and although
he was only ranked after the youngest of the lieutenants, and
just before chits of reefers (called by some people "midshipmen"),
and though upon any but festive occasions you might
not have spied him at the Captain's table, you could scarcely
have found any officer more satisfied with his position and
more capable of maintaining it.</p>
<p>We were cruising off the south coast of Ireland, under orders
to search all ships that might be likely to carry arms; but as a
frigate would have done for that service, as well as, or better
than, a 74, we knew that our true commission was to shake
together and fall into discipline, and bring other seamen into
the same, if we could get any to join us. Having a light wind
and plenty of sea-room, we resolved to enjoy ourselves that day;
and a very delightful party it was, especially after I was called
on to spin a few of the many true yarns which make me such
a general favourite.</p>
<p>After filling our glasses and drinking the health of his
Majesty, and of the Navy at large, and especially of our
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_362">[Pg 362]</SPAN></span>
Captain, we began to talk of the state of affairs and the time
at which the war might be expected to declare itself. That it
must come to a great war with France, not even a fool could
doubt, although he might desire to doubt it, ever since the
destruction of the Bastile in July 1789. And throughout all
the year and a half since that, a wild and desperate multitude
had done nothing but abolish all the safeguards of their
country, and every restraint upon the vilest rabble. Our
wisest plan was to begin at once, before this cruel monster
should learn the use of its fangs and the strength of its spring;
but, as usual, Great Britain was too slow to seize the cudgel,
which might haply have saved a million lives. However,
we were preparing quietly for the inevitable conflict, as even
our presence that day in the cabin of the Bellona might
indicate.</p>
<p>"Master, we are sadly short of hands," said Captain Bampfylde,
addressing me; "I shall have a poor report to make,
unless we do something. Do you think that we could get on
without you, if I sent you on a cruise for a week or so?"</p>
<p>"I think you might, sir," I answered humbly; "if it does
not come on to blow, and if you keep well away from land.
I have trained Mr Sebright with so much skill, that you may
always rely upon him, except in any difficulty."</p>
<p>Nobly I spoke; and the Captain's reply was not very far
behind me. "If we carried 750 men," he exclaimed, with
generous candour, "we could not hope to have more than one
Master David Llewellyn; so diffident, so truthful, so entirely
free from jealousy. Gentlemen, is it not so?"</p>
<p>All the officers assented with a pleasant smile to me, and
then to one another, so that I hardly knew what to say, except
that I could not deserve it.</p>
<p>"Our tender the Sealark is to meet us in the Cove of Cork
on New Year's Day," continued Captain Bampfylde; "and
after shipping all our stores, she will be for a fortnight at my
disposal. Now you know as well as I do, that our complement
for war-time is 650 men and boys, and that our present strength
is more than 200 short of that. War may be declared any day
almost, and a pretty figure we should cut against a French liner
of 80 guns. Therefore, unless the Sealark should bring us a
very large draft, which I do not expect, my resolve is to man
and victual her, for a fortnight's cruise, under some one who is
a good hand at recruiting. Would you like the berth, Master
Llewellyn?"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_363">[Pg 363]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>"Sir, I know not anything which I should like better."</p>
<p>Our Captain perceived that the junior lieutenants looked
rather glum at being so passed over, from Master Rodney
downwards; and though he had the perfect right to appoint
any officer he pleased, he knew the true wisdom of shunning
offence, by giving some good reason. Therefore he went on
again:—</p>
<p>"There is not one of us, I daresay, who would not enjoy
this little change. But I think that Llewellyn is our man,
simply for this reason. The part to be beaten up first is the
Welsh coast, from St David's Head to Penarth. I have heard
of many good seamen there, and especially at Llanelly. I think
that none of our officers can speak Welsh, except Master David.
Even you, Bluett, though coming from Wales, are not up to
the lingo."</p>
<p>This settled it in the best-natured manner; and all congratulated
me, and wished me good speed in getting hold of
old salts, if possible, or else fresh young ones. Not to be too
long about it, somewhere about Epiphany Day in the year
1791, I stretched away for the coast of Wales, being in command
of the Sealark, a rattling cutter of 100 tons, with two
6-pound bow-chasers, and a score of picked men under me. I
have no time now to describe emotions, even of the loftiest
order, such as patriotism, modesty, generosity, self-abasement,
and many others which I indulged in, when I cast anchor off
Porthcawl, and they thought that I meant to bombard them.
I ordered a boat ashore at once, to reassure the natives, when I
had given a waft of my flag, and fired a gun to salute it. But
being now in such a position, and the parish to its utmost
corners raving on the subject, ashore I durst not trust myself;
because without rupture of ancient ties, and a low impression
left behind, I could not have got aboard sober again. And
after that, could I knock down any of my crew for being tipsy?
Nevertheless, I had Bardie, and Bunny, and Mother Jones
with her children, and Master Berkrolles, and Charles Morgan,
and Betsy Matthews, and Moxy Thomas, all brought in a boat
to visit me, besides a few others who came without leave.
They all seemed to be very well and happy, and I entertained
them beautifully.</p>
<p>That same afternoon we made a hit enough to encourage
anybody. We impressed not only my foe the tailor, but also
Hezekiah! That is to say, it was not quite what might be
called impressment; because, with no war raging yet, we could
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_364">[Pg 364]</SPAN></span>
not resort to violence: but we made them both so entirely drunk,
that we were compelled, for their own sake, to weigh anchor
while having their bodies on board. I had a stern fellow of
noble mind to back me up at all hazard, and seeing what a
sneak Hezekiah was, he gave him six dozen out of hand, with
my official sanction. The Horologist to the Royal Family took
his allotment worse than almost any man I ever saw; however,
for old acquaintance' sake, I would not have him salted. In
spite of this, the effect was such that it brought him round to
the English Church, and cured him of all French doctrine.
And as he gradually began to lose fat, and to dwell upon
gunnery, we found his oiliness most useful to prevent corrosion.</p>
<p>Having worked this coast to our utmost power, and gathered
a good deal of human stuff (some useful and some useless), pretty
near threescore in all, and put upon short rations, we thought
that we might as well finish our job by slanting across to
Devonshire. Because for the most part, you there may find
more body but less mind than ours, which is the proper state
of things for the substance of our Navy. Therefore we drafted
off to Cork all our noble Welshmen, and made sail for Devonshire.</p>
<p>Now, before telling what we did, I really must guard against
any nasty misconstruction. Whatever had been done to me
on the part of Parson Chowne, was by this time so wholly
gone out of my heart, and mind, and everything any man
can feel with, that nothing was further from my intention than
to stir at all in that matter again. I knew that in spite of all
the deference paid me now on every side (and too much for my
comfort), Chowne would turn me inside out, ten thousand
times worse than Stew could. This I like to see done, when
anything wrong can be found inside a man. But a thoroughly
honest fellow should stick on his honesty, and refuse it.</p>
<p>So when Providence, in a dream, laid before me the great
mercy, and I might say miracle, of impressing the naked people,
and bringing them under our good chaplain, to be trained from
the error of their ways and live, I felt a sort of delicacy as to
trespassing thus upon Parson Chowne's old freehold.</p>
<p>These naked folk belonged to him, and though he did not
cultivate them as another man might have done, it was not
difficult to believe that he found fine qualities in them. And
to take them from under his very nose, might seem like a
narrow vexation. However, times there are when duty overrides
all delicacy; the Bellona was still short of her number
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_365">[Pg 365]</SPAN></span>
by a hundred hands or more: and with this reflection I cast
away all further hesitation.</p>
<p>We left the Sealark off Heddon's Mouth, a wild and desolate
part of the coast, for my object was to pounce unawares on the
Parson's savage colony. For what we were going to do was
not altogether lawful just at present, although it very soon
would be. My force consisted of no less than fifteen jolly well-seasoned
tars, all thoroughly armed, all up for a spree, and ready
to do any mortal thing at a word or a signal from me. If we
could only surprise the wild men, I had no fear as to our
retreat, because the feeling of the country would be strongly in
our favour, as the abaters of a nuisance long pronounced unbearable.</p>
<p>For five or it may have been six leagues we marched across
the moors as straight as possible by compass, except when a
quagmire or a ridge of rugged stone prevented us. We forded
several beautiful streams of the brightest crystal water, so full
of trout that I longed to have a turn at my old calling;
and we came in view of Nympton steeple just as the sun was
setting. I remembered the lie of the land quite well, ever since
that night when the fire happened; so I halted my men in a
little wood, and left them to eat their suppers, while I slung my
spy-glass and proceeded to reconnoitre the enemy. Lying flat
upon the crest of a hummocky ridge of moorland, I brought
my glass to bear through the heather first upon the great
Parson's house, which stood on a hill to the left of me, and
then on the barbarous settlement. The Rectory looked as snug
and quiet as the house of the very best man could be; with a
deal more of comfort than most of these contrive to gather
around them.</p>
<p>The dens of the tribe that objected to raiment were quite out
of sight from his windows; nor were they allowed to present
themselves to Mrs Chowne, unless she had done anything to
vex him. Shaping my glass upon these wretches, I saw that
they were in high festival. Of course I could not tell the
reason, but it turned out afterwards that the Parson's hounds
were off their feed through a sudden attack of distemper, and
therefore a cartload of carrion had been taken down to the
settlement. It was lucky that I knew it not, for I doubt
whether we should have dared to invade their burrows at such
a period.</p>
<p>However, I thought that nothing could be more suitable for
our enterprise. Of course they would all overgorge themselves,
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_366">[Pg 366]</SPAN></span>
and then their habit of drinking water, which alone would
establish their barbarism, was sure to throw them into deep
untroubled sleep till sunrise. As soon as one could strike a
line from the pointers to the Pole-star (which is a crooked one,
by the by), and as soon as it was dark enough for a man to
count the Pleiads, I called my men with a long low whistle,
and advanced in double file. The savages lay as deeply sleeping
as if their consciences were perfect, whereas they could have
had none at all. We entered their principal cuddy, or shanty,
or shieling, or wigwam, or what you will (for it was none of
these exactly, but a mixture of them all), and to our surprise
not one awoke, or was civilised enough to snore. Higgledy-piggledy
they lay in troughs scooped out of the side of the hill,
or made by themselves, of clay and straw (called "cob," I
believe, in Devonshire), with some rotten thatch above them,
and the sides of their den made of brushwood. Some of the
elders had sheepskins over them, but the greater part trusted to
one another for warmth, and to their hairiness.</p>
<p>All this we saw by a blue-light which I ordered to be kindled—for
at first it was as dark as pitch—and a stranger or a sadder
sight has rarely been seen in England. Poor creatures! they were
all so cowed by the brilliant light and the armed men standing
in their filthy hovel, that they offered no resistance, but stared
at us in a piteous manner, as if we were come to kill them.
Escape was impossible, save for the children, and most of them
thought (as we found out afterwards) that Chowne was tired
of them and had ordered their destruction.</p>
<p>"Choose all the males from ten years to thirty," I shouted
to my men, who were almost as scared as the savages: "don't
touch the females, or I'll cut you down. Set another blue-light
burning: we don't want any cripples."</p>
<p>Not to be too long with it, I only found three men worth
impressing; the others were so badly built, or even actually
deformed, and of appearance so repulsive that we could not
bear to think of turning them into messmates.</p>
<p>"Now for the boys!" I cried; "we want boys even more
then men almost;" but I found that all the children save one
had slipped through the sailors' legs adroitly while we were
dealing with the men. We could not have caught them in the
dark; and more than this, the best-sized of them had popped,
like snakes, into burrow-holes, or like a fox into his earth.</p>
<p>But the one who stood his ground, and faced us, was a noble-looking
boy, in spite of dirt and nakedness, with long thick
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_367">[Pg 367]</SPAN></span>
tangles of golden hair, and a forehead like a man's almost. He
looked up at me in a bold steady manner, wholly unlike their
savage stare, and it struck me that here was the little fellow
whom I had saved eight or nine years ago from the horse of
Parson Jack. But though he appeared to be twelve years old,
I could not make out what he said, except "Yes, yes;" and
"me come with oo." Such was his state of education!</p>
<p>I hoisted him on a strong man's back, for the long march
had made me feel my years, and perceiving no call to molest
the residue, or injure their home—such as it was—we simply
handcuffed the three best fellows, and borrowed three pig-whips
of their own (made right down ingeniously) so as to drive
them to Heddon's Mouth. We durst not halt for a rest until
there were three leagues between us and Nympton Moor; then
hurrying on at the break of day, we found the Sealark at
anchor; and she sent us a boat, at our signal.</p>
<p>Scarcely were we on board of the boat, and pushing off with
our capture, when the clash of a horse's hoofs upon rock rang
through the murmuring of the waves. We turned and gazed
with one accord, for the boat lay broadside on to shore, through
the kicking of the naked men when they felt salt water under
them, and our quitting good stroke to attend to them. At
furious speed a horseman dashed out of the craggy glen, and
leaped the pool where the brook is barred up and vanishes.
Down the shingle, and shelves of wrack, he drove his horse
into the sea, until there was no firmness under him. He almost
laid hold of our boat—not quite; for I struck with an oar
at the horse, and scared him, shouting to all of my crew to
pull.</p>
<p>Finding himself just a little too late, Chowne gave a turn to
his horse's head, and the lather and foam of the spirited animal
made a white curdle in the calm blue sea. The horse sprang
gladly up the shingle crest—for the shore is very steep there—and
he shook himself and scattered brine; and there were three
other horses behind him. On one of these sate Parson Jack,
and two huntsmen on the other twain, and the faces of these
were as red as fire with hurry and indignation.</p>
<p>Only Chowne's wicked face was white, and settled with calm
fury; and his style of address to us, just as if we were nothing
but dogs of his kennel.</p>
<p>"Ho, you scoundrels!" he shouted out, "hold oars, and let
me parley you."</p>
<p>At this I made a signal to my crew to slack from rowing;
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_368">[Pg 368]</SPAN></span>
and I stood up in the boat, and said, "What can we do for
your Reverence?"</p>
<p>"Nothing for me, rogues; but much for yourselves. I will
give you five pounds for that child in the stern. I want him
for knife-cleaning."</p>
<p>"Would your Worship think fifty too much for him? We
put him at fifty, your Worship."</p>
<p>"Fifty, you robbers! Well, then, fifty. Ten times his
value to any one. But I have a fancy for him."</p>
<p>"Would your Worship mind saying five hundred down?
Look at his hair: he is worth it." For we had washed him
in the brook; and his hair in drying was full of gold.</p>
<p>"Who are you?" he shouted, controlling himself, as his
habit was, when outbreak became useless. For the dignity of
my demeanour, and the nobility of my uniform, also the snowiness
of my hair, combined to defeat the unerring quickness of
his rapid and yet cold eyes. And so I replied with an elegant
bow—</p>
<p class="pmb3">"Your Reverence, it so happens that my name is 'Old Davy
Llewellyn.'"</p>
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