CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
TREATS OF SPIRITS AND OF SUNDRY SPIRITED MATTERS AND INCIDENTS.
One sunny afternoon Mrs Maggot found herself in the happy position ofhaving so thoroughly completed her round of household work that she feltat leisure to sit down and sew, while little Grace sat beside her, nearthe open door, rocking the cradle.
Baby, in blissful unconsciousness of its own existence, lay sound asleepwith a thumb in its mouth; the resolute sucking of that thumb havingbeen its most recent act of disobedience.
Little Grace was flushed, and rather dishevelled, for it had cost herhalf an hour's hard wrestling to get baby placed in recumbentsomnolence. She now sought to soothe her feelings by tickling the chinof the black kitten--a process to which that active creature submittedwith purring satisfaction.
"Faither's long of coming hum, mother," said little Grace, looking up.
"Iss," replied Mrs Maggot.
"D'ee knaw where he is?" inquired Grace.
"No, I doan't," replied her mother.
It was evident that Mrs Maggot was not in the humour for conversation,so Grace relapsed into silence, and devoted herself to the kitten.
"Is that faither?" said Grace, after a few minutes, pointing to thefigure of a man who was seen coming over the distant moor or waste landwhich at that period surrounded the town of St. Just, though the greaterpart of it is now cultivated fields.
"It isn' like un," said Mrs Maggot, shading her eyes with her hand;"sure, it do look like a boatsman."
[The men of the coastguard were called "boatsmen" at that time.]
"Iss, I do see his cutlash," said little Grace; "and there's another mancomin' down road to meet un."
"Haste 'ee, Grace," cried Mrs Maggot, leaping up and plucking herlast-born out of the cradle, "take the cheeld in to Mrs Penrose, an'bide theer till I send for 'ee--dost a hear?"
Plucked thus unceremoniously from gentle slumber to be plunged headlongand without preparation into fierce infantine war, was too much for babyMaggot; he uttered one yell of rage and defiance, which was succeeded bya lull--a sort of pause for the recovery of breath--so prolonged thatthe obedient Grace had time to fling down the horror-struck Chet, catchbaby in her arms, and bear him into the neighbouring cottage before thenext roar came forth. The youthful Maggot was at once received into thebosom of the Penrose family, and succeeding yells were smothered byeight out of the sixteen Penroses who chanced to be at home at the time.
That Mrs Maggot had a guilty conscience might have been inferred fromher future proceedings, which, to one unacquainted with the habits ofher husband, would have appeared strange, if not quite unaccountable.When baby was borne off, as related, she seized a small keg, which stoodin a corner near the door and smelt strongly of brandy, and, placing itwith great care in the vacant cradle, covered it over with blankets.She next rolled a pair of stockings into a ball and tied on it a littlefrilled night-cap, which she disposed on the pillow, with the facepretty well down, and the back of the head pretty well up, and sojudiciously and cleverly covered it with bedclothes that even Maggothimself might have failed to miss his son, or to recognise the outlinesof a keg. A bottle half full of brandy, with the cork out, was nextplaced on the table to account for the odour in the room, and then MrsMaggot sat down to her sewing, and rocked the cradle gently with herfoot, singing a sweet lullaby the while. Ten minutes later, two stoutmen of the coastguard, armed with cutlasses and pistols, entered thecottage. Mrs Maggot observed that they were also armed with a pick andshovel.
"Good-hevenin', missus; how dost do?" said the man who walked foremost,in a hearty voice.
"Good-hevenin', Eben Trezise; how are _you_?" said Mrs Maggot.
"Braave, thank 'ee," said Trezise; "we've come for a drop o' brandy,missus, havin' heard that you've got some here, an' sure us can smellit--eh?"
"Why, iss, we've got wan small drop," said Mrs Maggot, gently arrangingthe clothes on the cradle, "that the doctor have order for the cheeld.You're welcome to a taste of it, but plaise don't make so much noise,for the poor cheeld's slaipin'."
"He'll be smothered, I do think, if you don't turn his head up a bit,missus," said the man; "hows'ever you've no objection to let Jim and mehave a look round the place, I dessay?"
Mrs Maggot said they were welcome to do as they pleased, if they wouldonly do it quietly for the sake of the "cheeld;" so without more adothey commenced a thorough investigation of the premises, outside and in.Then they went to the smithy, where Mrs Maggot knew her husband hadconcealed two large kegs of smuggled liquor on the hearth under a heapof ashes and iron debris, but these had been so cleverly, yetcarelessly, hidden that the men sat down on the heap under which theylay, to rest and wipe their heated brows after their fruitless search.
"Hast 'ee found the brandy?" inquired Mrs Maggot, with a look ofinnocence, when the two men returned.
"Not yet," replied Eben Trezise; "but we've not done. There's a certainshaft near by that has got a bad name for drinkin', missus; p'raps youmay have heard on it? Its breath do smell dreadful bad sometimes."
Both men laughed at this, and winked to each other, while Mrs Maggotsmiled, and, with a look of surprise, vowed that she had not heard ofthe disreputable shaft referred to.
Despite her unconcerned look, however, Mrs Maggot felt anxious, for shewas aware that her husband had recently obtained an unusually largequantity of French brandy and tobacco from the Scilly Islands, betweenwhich and the coasts of Cornwall smuggling was carried on in a mostdaring and extensive manner at the time of our story, and she knew thatthe whole of the smuggled goods lay concealed in one of those numerousdisused shafts of old mines which lie scattered thickly over that partof the country. Maggot's absence rendered her position still moreperplexing, but she was a woman of ready wit and self-reliance, and shecomforted herself with the knowledge that the brandy lay buried far downin the shaft, and that it would take the boatsmen some time to dig toit--that possibly they might give up in despair before reaching it.
While the men went off to search for the shaft, and while Mrs Maggotwas calmly nursing her spirited little baby, Maggot himself, in companywith his bosom friend John Cock, was sauntering slowly homeward alongthe cliffs near Kenidjack Castle, the ruins of which occupy a boldpromontory a little to the north of Cape Cornwall. They had just comein sight of the tin-mine and works which cover Nancharrow valley fromthe shore to a considerable distance inland, where stand the tallchimneys and engine-houses, the whims and varied machinery of theextensive and prolific old tin-mine named Wheal Owles.
The cliffs on which the two men stood are very precipitous and rugged--rising in some places to a height of about 300 feet above the rockswhere the waters of the Atlantic roll dark and deep, fringing the coastwith a milky foam that is carried away by the tide in long streaks, tobe defiled by the red waters which flow from Nancharrow valley intoPorth Ledden Cove.
This cove is a small one, with a narrow strip of sand on its shore. Atits northern extremity is a deep narrow gorge, into which the wavesrush, even in calm weather, with a peculiar sound. In reference to thisit is said that the waves "buzz-and-go-in," hence the place has beennamed Zawn Buzzangein. The sides of the Zawn are about sixty feet high,and quite precipitous. In one part, especially, they overhang theirbase. It was here that Maggot and his friend stopped on their way home,and turned to look out upon the sea.
"No sign o' pilchers yet," observed Maggot, referring to the immenseshoals of pilchards which visit the Cornish coasts in the autumn of eachyear, and form a large portion of the wealth of the county.
"Too soon," replied John Cock.
"By the way, Jack," said Maggot, "wasn't it hereabouts that the schoonerwent ashore last winter?"
"Iss, 'twor down theer, close by Pullandeese," replied the other,pointing to a deep pool in the rocks round which the swell of theAtlantic broke in white foam. "I was theere myself. I had come down'bout daylight--before others were stirring, an' sure 'nuff there shelay, on the rocks, bottom up, an' all the
crew lost. We seed wan o'them knackin' on the rocks to the north, so we got ropes an' let a mandown to fetch un up, but of coorse it was gone dead."
"That minds me, Jack," said Maggot, "that I seed a daw's nest here thelast time I come along, so lev us go an' stroob that daw's nest."
"Thee cusn't do it," said John Cock.
Maggot laughed, and said he not only could but would, so he ran down tothe neighbouring works and returned with a stout rope, which he fixedfirmly to a rock at the edge of the overhanging cliff.
We have already said that Maggot was a noted madcap, who stuck atnothing, and appeared to derive positive pleasure from the mere act ofputting his life in danger. No human foot could, by climbing, havereached the spot where the nest of the daw, or Cornish chough, wasfixed--for the precipice, besides being perpendicular and nearly flat,projected a little near the top, where the nest lay in a creviceoverhanging the surf that boiled and raged in Zawn Buzzangein. Indeed,the nest was not visible from the spot where the two men stood, and itcould only be seen by going round to the cliffs on the opposite side ofthe gorge.
Without a moment's hesitation Maggot swung himself over the edge of theprecipice, merely cautioning his comrade, as he did so, to hold on tothe rope and prevent it from slipping.
He slid down about two yards, and then found that the rock overhung somuch that he was at least six feet off from the crevice in which theyoung daws nestled comfortably together, and no stretch that he couldmake with his legs, long though they were, was sufficient to enable himto get on the narrow ledge just below the nest. Several times he triedto gain a footing, and at each effort the juvenile daws--as yet ignorantof the desperate nature of man--opened their little eyes to the utmostin undisguised amazement. For full five minutes Maggot wriggled and thedaws gazed, and the anxious comrade above watched the vibrations andjerks of the part of the rope that was visible to him while he listenedintently. The bubbles on Zawn Buzzangein, like millions of watery eyes,danced and twinkled sixty feet below, as if in wonder at the objectwhich swung wildly to and fro in mid-air.
At last Maggot managed to touch the rock with the extreme point of histoe. A slight push gave him swing sufficient to enable him to give oneor two vigorous shoves, by which means he swung close to the side of thecliff. Watching his opportunity, he planted both feet on the narrowledge before referred to, stretched out his hands, pressed himself flatagainst the rock, let go the rope, and remained fast, like a flysticking to a wall.
This state of comparative safety he announced to his anxious friendabove by exclaiming,--"All right, _John--I've_ got the daws."
This statement was, however, not literally true, for it cost him severalminutes of slow and careful struggling to enable him so to fix hisperson as to admit of his hands being used for "stroobing" purposes. Atlength he gained the object of his ambition, and transferred thehorrified daws from their native home to his own warm but unnaturalbosom, in which he buttoned them up tight. A qualm now shot throughMaggot's heart, for he discovered that in his anxiety to secure the dawshe had let go the rope, which hung at a distance of full six feet fromhim, and, of course, far beyond his reach.
"Hullo! John," he cried.
"Hullo!" shouted John in reply.
"I've got the _daws_," said Maggot, "but I've lost the _rope_!"
"Aw! my dear," gasped John; "have 'ee lost th' rope?"
It need scarcely be said that poor John Cock was dreadfully alarmed atthis, and that he eagerly tendered much useless advice--stretching hisneck the while as far as was safe over the cliff.
"I say, John," shouted Maggot again.
"Hullo!" answered John.
"I tell 'ee what: I'm goin' to jump for th' rope. If I do miss th'rope, run thee round to Porth Ledden Cove, an' tak' my shoes weth 'ee;I'll be theere before 'ee."
Having made this somewhat bold prediction, Maggot collected all hisenergies, and sprang from his narrow perch into the air, with arms andhands wildly extended. His effort was well and bravely made, but hisposition had been too constrained, and his foothold too insecure, toadmit of a good jump. He missed the rope, and, with a loud cry, shotlike an arrow into the boiling flood below.
John Cock heard the cry and the plunge, and stood for nearly a minutegazing in horror into Zawn Buzzangein. Presently he drew a deep sigh ofrelief, for Maggot made his appearance, manfully buffeting the waves.John watched him with anxiety while he swam out towards the sea, escapedthe perpendicular sides of the Zawn, towards which the breakers morethan once swept him, doubled the point, and turned in towards the cove.The opposite cliffs of the gorge now shut the swimmer out from John'sview, so he drew another deep sigh, and picking up his comrade's shoes,ran round with all his might to Porth Ledden Cove, where, true to hisword, having been helped both by wind and tide, Maggot had arrivedbefore him.
"Are 'ee safe, my dear man?" was John's first question.
"Iss," replied Maggot, shaking himself, "safe enough, an' the daws too,but semmen to me they've gone dead."
This was too true. The poor birds had perished in their captor's bosom.
Deep Down, a Tale of the Cornish Mines Page 13
