CHAPTER XX
BRUNTSEA
It would be unfair to Major Hockin to take him for an extravagant man ora self-indulgent one because of the good dinner he had ordered, and hiseagerness to sit down to it. Through all the best years of his life hehad been most frugal, abstemious, and self-denying, grudging every pennyof his own expense, but sparing none for his family. And now, when hefound himself so much better off, with more income and less outlay, hecould not be blamed for enjoying good things with the wholesome zest ofabstinence.
For, coming to the point, and going well into the matter, the Major haddiscovered that the "little property" left to him, and which he was cometo see to, really was quite a fine estate for any one who knew how tomanage it, and would not spare courage and diligence. And of these twoqualities he had such abundance that, without any outlet, they mighthave turned him sour.
The property lately devised to him by his cousin, Sir Rufus Hockin, hadlong been far more plague than profit to that idle baronet. Sir Rufushated all exertion, yet could not comfortably put up with the onlyalternative--extortion. Having no knowledge of his cousin Nick (exceptthat he was indefatigable), and knowing his own son to be lazier eventhan himself had been, longing also to inflict even posthumous justiceupon the land agent, with the glad consent of his heir he left thisdistant, fretful, and naked spur of land to his beloved cousin MajorNicholas Hockin.
The Major first heard of this unexpected increase of his belongingswhile he was hovering, in the land of gold, between his desire tospeculate and his dread of speculation. At once he consulted our ColonelGundry, who met him by appointment at Sacramento; and Uncle Sam havinga vast idea of the value of land in England, which the Major naturallymade the most of, now being an English land-owner, they spent a mostpleasant evening, and agreed upon the line marked out by Providence.
Thus it was that he came home, bringing (by kind arrangement) me, whowas much more trouble than comfort to him, and at first disposed to becold and curt. And thus it was that I was left so long in that wretchedSouthampton, under the care of a very kind person who never couldunderstand me. And all this while (as I ought to have known, withoutany one to tell me) Major Hockin was testing the value and beating thebounds of his new estate, and prolonging his dinner from one to twocourses, or three if he had been travelling. His property was largeenough to afford him many dinners, and rich enough (when rightlytreated) to insure their quality.
Bruntsea is a quiet little village on the southeast coast of England, inKent or in Sussex, I am not sure which, for it has a constitution of itsown, and says that it belongs to neither. It used to be a place of sizeand valor, furnishing ships, and finding money for patriotic purposes.And great people both embarked and landed, one doing this and the otherthat, though nobody seems to have ever done both, if history is to berelied upon. The glory of the place is still preserved in a seal andan immemorial stick, each of which is blessed with marks asincomprehensible as could be wished, though both are to be seen forsixpence. The name of the place is written in more than forty differentways, they say; and the oldest inhabitant is less positive than theyoungest how to spell it.
This village lies in the mouth, or rather at the eastern end of themouth, of a long and wide depression among the hills, through which asluggish river wins its muddy consummation. This river once went faralong the sea-brink, without entering (like a child who is afraid tobathe), as the Adur does at Shoreham, and as many other rivers do. Andin those days the mouth and harbor were under the cliff at Bruntsea,whence its seal and corporation, stick, and other blessings. But threeor four centuries ago the river was drawn by a violent storm, like abadger from his barrel, and forced to come straight out and face thesea, without any three miles of dalliance. The time-serving watermade the best of this, forsook its ancient bed (as classic nymphs andfountains used to do), and left poor Bruntsea with a dry bank, andno haven for a cockle-shell. A new port, such as it is, incrusted thefickle jaw of the river; piles were driven and earth-works formed, lestthe water should return to its old love; and Bruntsea, as concernedher traffic, became but a mark of memory. Her noble corporation neverdemanded their old channel, but regarded the whole as the will ofthe Lord, and had the good sense to insist upon nothing except theirtime-honored ceremonies.
In spite of all these and their importance, land became of no valuethere. The owner of the Eastern Manor and of many ancient rights, havingno means of getting at them, sold them for an "old song," which theywere; and the buyer was one of the Hockin race, a shipwrecked marinerfrom Cornwall, who had been kindly treated there, and took a fancyaccordingly. He sold his share in some mine to pay for it, settled here,and died here; and his son, getting on in the world, built a house, andtook to serious smuggling. In the chalk cliff's eastward he found holesof honest value to him, capable of cheap enlargement (which the Cornishholes were not), and much more accessible from France. Becoming amagistrate and deputy-lieutenant, he had the duty and privilege ofinquiring into his own deeds, which enabled him to check those few whootherwise might have competed with him. He flourished, and bought moresecure estates; and his son, for activity against smugglers, was made agentle baronet.
These things now had passed away, and the first fee-simple of the Hockinfamily became a mere load and incumbrance. Sir George and Sir Robert andSir Rufus, one after another, did not like the hints about contrabanddealings which met them whenever they deigned to come down there, tillat last the estate (being left to an agent) cost a great deal more thanhe ever paid in. And thus--as should have been more briefly told--theowner was our Major Hockin.
No wonder that this gentleman, with so many cares to attend to, had notime at first to send for me. And no wonder that when he came down tosee me, he was obliged to have good dinners. For the work done by him inthose three months surprised every body except himself, and made in oldBruntsea a stir unknown since the time of the Spanish Armada. Forhe owned the house under the eastern cliff, and the warren, and thedairy-farm inland, and the slope of the ground where the sea used tocome, and fields where the people grew potatoes gratis, and all theeastern village, where the tenants paid their rents whenever they foundit rational.
A hot young man, in a place like this, would have done a great deal ofmischief. Either he would have accepted large views, and applauded thisfine communism (if he could afford it, and had no wife), or else hewould have rushed at every body headlong, and batted them back to theirabutments. Neither course would have created half the excitement whichthe Major's did. At least, there might have been more talk at first, butnot a quarter so much in sum total. Of those things, however, there istime enough to speak, if I dare to say any thing about them.
The things more to my mind (and therefore more likely to be made plainto another mind) are not the petty flickering phantoms of the shadow wecall human, and which alone we realize, and dwell inside it and uponit, as if it were all creation; but the infinitely nobler things ofever-changing but perpetual beauty, and no selfishness. These, withoutdeigning to us even sense to be aware of them, shape our little mindsand bodies and our large self-importance, and fail to know when the lordor king who owns is buried under them. To have perception of such mightytruths is good for all of us: and I never had keener perception of themthan when I sat down on the Major's camp-stool, and saw all his landaround me, and even the sea--where all the fish were his, as soon as hecould catch them--and largely reflected that not a square foot of thewhole world would ever belong to me.
"Bruntlands," as the house was called, perhaps from standing well abovethe sea, was sheltered by the curve of the eastern cliff, which lookeddown over Bruntsea. The cliff was of chalk, very steep toward the sea,and showing a prominent headland toward the south, but prettily risingin grassy curves from the inland and from the westward. And then, whereit suddenly chined away from land-slope into sea-front, a long bar ofshingle began at right angles to it, and, as level as a railroad, wentto the river's mouth, a league or so now to the westward. And beyondthat another line of white cliffs
rose, and looked well till they cameto their headland. Inside this bank of shingle, from end to end, mightbe traced the old course of the river, and to landward of that trough atthe hither end stood, or lay, the calm old village.
Forsaken as it was by the river, this village stuck to its ancient siteand home, and instead of migrating, contracted itself, and cast offneedless members. Shrunken Bruntsea clung about the oldest of itschurches, while the four others fell to rack and ruin, and settled intocow-yards and barns, and places where old men might sit and sigh. ButBruntsea distinctly and trenchantly kept the old town's division intoeast and west.
East Bruntsea was wholly in the Major's manor, which had a specialcharter; and most of the houses belonged to him. This ownership hithertohad meant only that the landlord should do all the tumble-down repairs(when the agent reported that they must be done), but never must enterthe door for his rent. The borough had been disfranchised, though thesnuggest of the snug for generations; and the freemen, thus beingrobbed of their rights, had no power to discharge their duties. And tocomplicate matters yet further, for the few who wished to simplify them,the custom of "borough-English" prevailed, and governed the descent ofdilapidations, making nice niceties for clever men of law.
"You see a fine property here, Miss Wood," Major Hockin said to me,as we sat, on the day after I was allowed to come, enjoying the freshbreeze from the sea and the newness of the February air, and lookingabroad very generally: "a very fine property, but neglected--shamefully,horribly, atrociously neglected--but capable of noble things, of grandthings, of magnificent, with a trifle of judicious outlay."
"Oh, please not to talk of outlay, my dear," said good Mrs. Hockin,gently; "it is such an odious word; and where in the world is it to comefrom?"
"Leave that to me. When I was a boy my favorite copy in my copy-bookwas, 'Where there's a will there's a way.' Miss Wood, what is youropinion? But wait, you must have time to understand the subject. Firstwe bring a railway--always the first step; why, the line is already madefor it by the course of the old river, and the distance from Newportthree miles and a half. It ought not to cost quite 200 pounds amile--the mere outlay for rails and sleepers. The land is all mine,and--and of course other landed proprietors'. Very well: these would allunite, of course; so that not a farthing need be paid for land, which isthe best half of the battle. We have the station here--not too near myhouse; that would never do; I could not bear the noise--but in a finecentral place where nobody on earth could object to it--lively, andclose at hand for all of them. Unluckily I was just too late. We havelost a Parliamentary year through that execrable calm--you remember allabout it. Otherwise we would have had Billy Puff stabled at Bruntseaby the first of May. But never mind; we shall do it all the better andcheaper by taking our time about it. Very well: we have the railwayopened and the trade of the place developed. We build a fine terrace ofelegant villas, a crescent also, and a large hotel replete with everyluxury; and we form the finest sea-parade in England by simply assistingnature. Half London comes down here to bathe, to catch shrimps, toflirt, and to do the rest of it. We become a select, salubrious,influential, and yet economical place; and then what do we do, Mrs.Hockin?"
"My dear, how can I tell? But I hope that we should rest and bethankful."
"Not a bit of it. I should hope not, indeed. Erema, what do we do then?"
"It is useless to ask me. Well, then, perhaps you set up a handsomesaw-mill!"
"A saw-mill! What a notion of Paradise! No; this is what we do--butremember that I speak in the strictest confidence; dishonest antagonismmight arise, if we ventilated our ideas too soon--Mrs. Hockin and MissWood, we demand the restoration of our river!--the return of our riverto its ancient course."
"I see," said his wife; "oh, how grand that would be! and how beautifulfrom our windows! That really, now, is a noble thought!"
"A just one--simply a just one. Justice ought not to be noble, mydear, however rare it may be. Generosity, magnanimity, heroism, and soon--those are the things we call noble, my dear."
"And the founding of cities. Oh, my dear, I remember, when I was atschool, it was always said, in what we called our histories, thatthe founders of cities had honors paid them, and altars built, anddivinities done, and holidays held in their honor."
"To that I object," cried the Major, sternly. "If I founded fiftycities, I would never allow one holiday. The Sabbath is enough; one dayin seven--fifteen per cent, of one's whole time; and twenty per cent, ofyour Sunday goes in church. Very right, of course, and loyal, and trulyedifying--Mrs. Hockin's father was a clergyman, Miss Wood; and the lastthing I would ever allow on my manor would be a Dissenting chapel; butstill I will have no new churches here, and a man who might go againstme. They all want to pick their own religious views, instead ofreflecting who supports them! It never used to be so; and such thingsshall never occur on my manor. A good hotel, attendance included, and asound and moderate table d'hote; but no church, with a popish bag sentround, and money to pay, 'without anything to eat.'"
"My dear! my dear!" cried Mrs. Hockin, "I never like you to talk likethat. You quite forget who my father was, and your own second son such avery sound priest!"
"A priest! Don't let him come here," cried the Major, "or I'll let himknow what tonsure is, and read him the order of Melchisedec. A priest!After going round the world three times, to come home and be hailed asthe father of a priest! Don't let him come near me, or I'll sacrificehim."
"Now, Major, you are very proud of him," his good wife answered, ashe shook his stick. "How could he help taking orders when he was underorders to do so? And his views are sound to the last degree, moststrictly correct and practical--at least except as to celibacy."
"He holds that his own mother ought never to have been born! Miss Wood,do you call that practical?"
"I have no acquaintance with such things," I replied; "we had none ofthem in California. But is it practical, Major Hockin--of course youknow best in your engineering--I mean, would it not require somethinglike a tunnel for the river and the railway to run on the same ground?"
"Why, bless me! That seems to have escaped my notice. You have not beenwith old Uncle Sam for nothing. We shall have to appoint you our chiefengineer."
Erema; Or, My Father's Sin Page 20
