In the Roar of the Sea Part 51

Go to your good friend, Captain Coppinger, and tell him what you want.

He has made his pickings before now on sh.o.r.e and off wrecks, and has not given up the practice."

"But," said Mr. Mules, "do you mean to tell me that you people in this benighted corner of the world live like sharks, upon whatever is cast overboard?"

"No, I do not," answered Scantlebray. "We have too much energy and intelligence for that. We don't always wait till it is cast overboard, we go aboard and take what we want."

"What, steal!"

"I don't call that stealing when Providence and a southwest wind throws a s.h.i.+p into our laps, when we put in our fingers and pick out the articles we want. What are Porth-quin and Hayle Bay but our laps, in which lie the wrecks heaven sends us? And Doom Bar, what is that but a counter on which the good things are spread, and those first there get the first share?"

"And pray," said Mr. Desiderius Mules, "have the owners of the vessels, the pa.s.sengers, the captains, no objections to make?"

"They are not there. Don't wait for our people. If they do--so much the worse for them." Then Scantlebray laughed. "There's a good story told of the Zen.o.bia, lost four years ago. There was a lady on board.

When she knew the vessel was on Doom Bar she put on all her jewelry, to escape with it. But some of our people got to the wreck before she got off it, and one lobe of her ears got torn off."

"Torn off?"

"Yes--in pulling the earrings off her."

"But who pulled the earrings off her?"

"Our people."

"Gracious heavens! Were they not brought to justice?"

"Who did it? no one knew. What became of the jewelry? no one knew. All that was known was that Lady Knighton--that was her name--lost her diamonds and the lobe of her right ear as well."

"And it was never recovered?"

"What! the lobe of her ear?"

"No, the jewelry."

"Never."

"Upon my word I have got among a parcel of scoundrels. It is high time that I should come and reform them. I'll set to work at once. I'll have St. Enodoc dug out and restored, and I'll soon put an end to this sort of thing."

"You think so?"

"You don't know me. I'll have a bazaar. I'll have a ball in the a.s.sembly Rooms at Wadebridge. The church shall be excavated. I'm not going in there again with the bats, to have my boots filled with sand, I can tell you--everything shall be renovated and put to rights. I'll see to it at once. I'll have a pigeon shooting for the sake of my chancel--I daresay I shall raise twenty pounds by that alone--and a raffle for the font, and an Aunt Sally for the pulpit. But the ball will be the main thing, I'll send and get the county people to patronize. I'll do it, and you barbarians in this benighted corner of the world shall see there is a man of energy among you."

"You'd best try your hand on a wreck. You'll get more off that."

"And I'll have a bran pie for an altar-table."

"You won't get the paris.h.i.+oners to do anything for the restoration of the church. They don't want to have it restored."

"The Decalogue is rotten. I ran my umbrella through the Ten Commandments this morning. I'll have a gypsy camp and fortune-telling to furnish me with new Commandments."

"I've heard tell," said Scantlebray, "that at Ponghill, near Stratton, is a four-post bed of pure gold came off a wreck in Bude Bay."[C]

[C] An exaggeration. The bed of seventeenth century Italian work, is gilt. It is now in a small farmhouse.

"When I was in the North," said the rector of St. Enodoc, "we had a savage who bit off the heads of rats, snap, skinned them and ate them raw, and charged sixpence entrance; but that was for the missionaries.

I should hardly advocate that for the restoration of a church; besides, where is the savage to be got? We made twenty-seven pounds by that man, but expenses were heavy and swallowed up twenty-five; we sent two pounds to the missionaries."

Mr. Menaida stood up and went to the window.

"I believe the wind has s.h.i.+fted to the north, and we shall have a lightening of the fog after sunset."

"Shall we not have a wreck! I hope there'll be one," said Jamie.

"What is the law about wreckage, Menaida, old man?" asked Scantlebray, also coming to the window.

"The law is plain enough. No one has a right to goods come to land; he who finds may claim salvage--naught else; and any persons taking goods cast ash.o.r.e, which are not legal wreck, may be punished."

"And," said Scantlebray, "what if certain persons give occasion to a s.h.i.+p being wrecked, and then plundering the wreck?"

"There the law is also plain. The invading and robbing of a vessel, either in distress or wrecked, and the putting forth of false lights in order to bring a vessel into danger, are capital felonies."

Scantlebray went to the table, took up a napkin, twisted it and then flung it round his neck, and hung his head on one side.

"What--this, Menaida, old man?"

Uncle Zachie nodded.

"Come here, Jim, my boy, a word with you outside." Scantlebray led Jamie into the road. "There's been a s.h.i.+lling owing you for some time.

We had roaring fun about it once. Here it is. Now listen to me. Go to Pentyre, you want to find gold-dust on the sh.o.r.e, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Or bars of silver?"

"Yes."

"Well, beg Captain Coppinger, if he is going to have a Jack o' Lantern to-night, to let you be the Jack. Do you understand? and mind--not a word about me. Then gold-dust and bars of silver and purses of s.h.i.+llings. Mind you ask to be Jack o' Lantern. It is fun. Such fun.

Roaring fun."

CHAPTER x.x.xV.

JACK O' LANTERN.

Evening closed in; Judith had been left entirely to herself. She sat in the window, looking out into the mist and watching the failing of the light. Sometimes she opened the cas.e.m.e.nt and allowed the vapor to blow in like cold steam, then became chilled, s.h.i.+vered, and closed it again. The wind was rising and piped about the house, piped at her window. Judith, sitting there, tried with her hand to find the crevice through which the blast drove, and then amused herself with playing with her finger-tops on the openings and regulating the whistle so as to form a tune. She heard frequently Coppinger's voice in conversation, sometimes in the hall, sometimes in the court-yard, but could not catch what was spoken. She listened, with childish curiosity, to the voice that was now that of her lord and husband, and endeavored to riddle out of it some answer to her questions as to what sort of a master he would prove. She could not comprehend him. She had heard stories told of him that made her deem him the worst of men, remorseless and regardless of others, yet toward her he had proved gentle and considerate. What, for instance, could be more delicate and thoughtful than his behavior to her at this very time! Feeling that she had married him with reluctance, he had kept away from her and suffered her to recover her composure without affording her additional struggle. A reaction after the strain on her nerves set in; the step she had dreaded had been taken, and she was the wife of the man she feared and did not love. The suspense of expectation was exchanged for the calmer grief of retrospect.

The fog all day had been white as wool, and she had noticed how parcels of vapor had been caught and entangled in the thorn bushes as the fog swept by, very much as sheep left flocks of their fleece in the bushes when they broke out of a field. Now that the day set, the vapor lost its whiteness and became ash gray, but it was not as dense as it had been, or rather it was compacted in places into thick ma.s.ses with clear tracts between. The sea was not visible, nor the cliffs, but she could distinguish out-buildings, tufts of furze and hedges.