Читать книгу Torn Sails: A Tale of a Welsh Village - Allen Raine - Страница 4

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"Blodau'r flwyddin yw f'anwylyd,

Ebrill, Mai, Mehefin hefyd.

Ma'i fel yr haul 'n'twynu ar gy scod,

A gwenithen y genethod."

—Old Ballad.

"My love has every charm of weather,

April, May, and June together.

She's like the sunshine after rain)

She's like the full ear's ripest grain."

—Trans.

When Ivor reached his own lodgings he found Gwen had brought her work out of the cwrt[1] to catch the last beams of the evening sun.

"Ah!" he said pleasantly, "getting on with the laces and ribbons?"

"Oh, yes," she said, with a toss of her head; "I am not one to let the grass grow under my feet when once I have made up my mind."

"No, indeed, you never were," and he disappeared under the low doorway, where his voice could be heard in cheerful conversation with Lallo.

There had been nothing unfriendly in Gwen's words, but Ivor was quite aware of the spiteful, sweeping glance which she cast after him.

When she soon after followed him into the dark penisha,[2] she flung her work aside, saying:

"Wfft to the old sun; he went down just as I wanted him."

"Never mind, he'll come round again to-morrow," said Lallo, "and thou canst catch his first beams if thou wishest."

Gwen made no answer, but raked the embers together with her wooden shoe. She was a pale, freckled girl, with a short nose and a wide mouth, and had no pretensions to beauty; but her shrewdness and quickness of repartee had made her a favourite with the lads of the village.

Siencyn Owen had courted her for years, had been flattered and rebuffed in turns, and had remained faithful through all; while Gwen, who had nursed a secret passion for Ivor, had in vain made every endeavour to win his affections. At length her shrewdness had made it evident to her that she was wasting her youth and her blandishments in a hopeless cause, and she had accepted the long-enduring Siencyn, although in that passionate, fiery little heart of hers, Ivor Parry still had the first place.

"Well," she said, examining the brass tips of her clocs,[3] "what did Gwladys say about the news?"

He was startled at the suddenness of the question, but knew better from experience than to try to parry Gwen's thrusts.

"She was very glad," he said, "and so was Nani——"

"I suppose so! And was she glad to get her glee book?"

"Yes, indeed!" said Ivor, rising and standing in the doorway, a black figure against the crimson sky. "Little witch!" he said to himself, "I wonder how she knew; but what doesn't she know! They said her grandmother was a witch, and her ways have descended to her granddaughter, I think."

As a fact, Gwen, returning through the fields from the singing class, had seen him stoop to pick up the book. Ivor was not absolutely free from superstition; what dweller on that rocky coast is? With his hands thrust deep in his pockets, he sauntered down the road to learn what tidings 'n'wncwl[4] Jos (the general newsmonger of the village) had of the Skylark which should have arrived with the morning's tide.

Meanwhile Gwen had carried her bit of work to the penucha[5] and had locked it up in the shining, black "coffor," which contained the wardrobe of the family. She saw her mother pass the window, carrying her red pitcher to the well, and knowing she was alone in the house, sat down in front of the fire and gave the rein to her thoughts, and even spoke them aloud.

"She was very glad, no doubt, and they rejoiced together! Oh, yes, Ivor, I have guessed your secret long ago, and if she were not such a fool, such a simple baby, she would have seen it, too; but she doesn't, that's one comfort! Llances![6] But never mind, it wasn't for nothing that I lived with my grandmother. No, it wasn't for nothing that I sat with her night after night over the peat fire! I found out much from her," and rising, she stamped her foot and clenched her hand, and an evil look came into the eyes which looked so cunningly under those half-closed lids.

"I hate her!" she said; "and granny has told me that if you have reason to hate anyone you can work them harm without going near them or touching them! And haven't I reason? 'You can keep your mind,' she said, 'so constantly fixed upon that one wish that your enemy will not prosper.' Wel, indeed! perhaps that is nonsense! I will marry Siencyn Owen—poor lad, he is faithful and true, and I will make him a good wife—but 'tis Gwladys I will often be thinking about!"

She paused a moment, and approached the little window, through which the glow of the setting sun lighted up her face; it was not pleasant to look upon.

"Yes, happy thoughts!" she said, with a sneering smile. "Granny!" she cried, turning back to the gloom of the little room, and raising her hand above her head. "Granny, granny! I wish you were here to help me! and, who knows, perhaps you are! There was no love lost between you and Nani Price!"

Almost as she spoke the last words Ivor Parry returned.

"I am as hungry as a hound," he said.

"Supper then directly; and here comes mother," she said.

And as the three sat at their supper of barley bread and fresh butter, with the addition, of course, of a bowl of cawl,[7] no one who looked in through that little window would have guessed that such stormy passions had, a few minutes ago, filled the heart of one of the party.

Next day the large doors of the sailmaker's shed stood wide open, letting in a flood of sunshine and a refreshing breeze, which bore on its wings the scent of the seaweed lying strewn on the shore below. Inside the air was full of merry talk and laughter, while the call of the seagulls and the plash of the waves on the shore came in with the wind. The Mishteer was busily engaged with his foreman arranging the sails which had been ordered from Aberython, occasionally going to the doorway to look up the hill for the waggon which was to carry them away.

He was about forty years of age, broad-shouldered and firmly built, his head, covered with closely curling jet black hair, was perfect in pose and shape; exposure to all weathers had browned a naturally dark skin. His black beard and moustache were trimly and carefully kept. His teeth were unusually white and even, the eyes which he was shading from the glare of the morning sun were black as night, but had in their depths such a bright sparkle, that they suggested the idea of black diamonds. His open shirt and upturned sleeves disclosed a brawny chest and muscular arms. Everything about him betokened firmness and strength; and as he turned round to address his workmen, his voice, though pleasant, and even musical, made itself heard clearly above the loud talking and laughing.

"Here, somebody!" and instantly there was a hush in the hubbub, while two or three men and women came forward to show their alacrity. "That knot of boys down the valley! I believe they are ill-treating some helpless creature in the stream!"

Before he had finished his orders, one of the workmen had clapped his hat on, and, running down to the river, was soon dispersing the little crowd of evil-doers.

"The Mishteer has seen you!" was all he said; but this was quite enough to make the dirty little brown hands loosen their hold on the stones, and the sun-burnt heads droop with shame, while they stared with round, repentant eyes at the half-drowned dog which they had been pelting with stones, and which the messenger was carrying gently away.

"Another lucky dog like myself!" mused Will, as his long strides carried him up the bank to the sail-shed.

"Who were the boys?" asked Hugh Morgan, looking down at the frightened, shivering dog. "Ah, Shân Pentraeth's! Well, none of you boys are to play with them for a week; d'ye hear?"

"Or goren,[8] Mishteer," came in answer from ten or a dozen boys working together at one end of the shed.

Hugh Morgan having made a bed for the dog on a coil of ropes, turned once more to the doorway as Deio Pantgwyn appeared leading a horse and cart.

"Where's your waggon and two horses?" asked the Mishteer, with a darkening look on his face, which his work-people all knew betokened a storm.

"Wel, Mishteer, Cymro hurt his leg last night, and he was limping this morning, so I could not bring him; but it's all right, Flower can easily take the load herself."

"Stop, Deio; didn't you tell Ivor Parry last night that we ought to have three horses? and now you want one to take the load! Go home again, and learn that no one who works for me shall be cruel to any animal——"

"But I thought the sails must be on the quay to-day?"

"So they ought; and you will put me to great expense, and Captain Morris to great inconvenience; but that horse shall not carry that load—so off you go!"

Deio stormed and swore; but the Mishteer was inexorable, and, turning to Ivor, said:

"Leave everything as it is until the full moon tide, and I will go myself to-night to explain to Captain Morris——"

"Will I borrow another horse to harness with Flower?" Deio shouted from outside, "since you think so much more of a horse than of a man's time and trouble."

"It would be too late now, and I shall not want you again."

Deio turned his horse and cart away, and the little incident seemed to pass out of Hugh Morgan's mind, for he turned his attention to some other section of his work with apparent equanimity.

"I have been thinking lately, Ivor, that we ought to have one of those machines for rolling up and holding the work in place for the women. See Gwladys Price now, how she has to drag at that sail to sew on the reef points."

"Yes," said Ivor, "it would lighten the work very much, no doubt; but it does not seem to weigh very much on her strength or spirits just at present, does it?" and the two men looked over to where a knot of girls were listening with evident amusement to 'n'wncwl Jos, who, on the strength of the fact that he took in a weekly newspaper, constituted himself the general dispenser of news.

Every day he made his appearance in the sail-shed brimful of information, and should the newspapers be wanting in anything interesting, he did not hesitate to invent new or garnish up old tales from the store of his memory.

In personal appearance he resembled a bundle of knobs; in fact, had not a wooden leg somewhat broken the circular outline, he would have looked like a big knob himself. His head was certainly like a black knob, and his face, the colour of new polished mahogany, was made up of shining knobs, his nose being round and smooth, his cheeks the same, especially one which always held a large quid of tobacco, and his fat, brown fists were like two more knobs.

One of his eyes was always closed as if in a chronic wink, while the other was unusually wide open. It was an undecided question in the village whether the closed eyelid covered an eye or not. As a matter of fact, it did not, for he had lost it when quite a young man, and it was the account of this event which was now exciting the laughter of the women gathered around him.

"Come, let us have a share of the fun," said Hugh Morgan, approaching, his eyes fixed smilingly on Gwladys Price's laughing face. She held her sides, and threw her head back in a fit of laughter, her dimpled face and white teeth looking very charming in their abandon of mirth.

"Oh, dear, dear! its 'n'wncwl Jos! Oh, dyr anwl, I have laughed till my sides ache."

"Yes, there's a girl she is to laugh," said 'n'wncwl Jos, putting in the stops with his wooden leg, "in spite of those serious brown eyes of hers. Hegh, hegh, hegh! I'll back her for a good laugh against any other girl in Mwntseison." (Stump, stump.) "I was only telling her how I lost my eye long ago, and that's how she takes it! Hegh, hegh! true as I am here. I was in the Bay of Loango, out there in Africa, me sitting on the edge of the ship, The Queen of the South, Captain Lucas, and whew! back I went among the sharks. In a moment an old ghost of a fellow darted after me. 'Here I'm going,' says I to myself, 'safe to Davey Jones' locker, and in a nasty conveyance, too!' (There she is laughing again, look!) The shark stopped a minute just to take a good look at me, when what should I feel but a sharp hook in my eye. I knew at once 'twas the rope and the hook from the ship, and Diwedd anwl![9] I'd rather have forty hooks in my eye than be swallowed by that old white ghost. I was reaching the sandy bottom just as the hook caught me, and partly with the pain, and partly with joy, I danced and floundered about ('twas before I lost my leg) and kicked up such a shindy, that I made a thick cloud of sand about me, and the old shark backed a bit, and I tugged the rope, and they pulled me up."

"By the hook in thine eye?" asked Gwen sarcastically, for 'n'wncwl Jos's stories were always taken cum grano salis.

"Diwedd anwl! No! I took that out pretty sharp—hegh! hegh! hegh!—and fastened it in the band of my trousses. 'Fforwel, old boy!' sez I, with my thumb to my nose, though I was nearly losing my breath; and as true as I'm here, the old fellow was offended"—(stump, stump)—"hegh! hegh! hegh!—for he made a spring at me, and snapped at my leg, just as they were pulling me out of the water. If it wasn't for my trousses he'd have had her off! I have thanked the Lord hundred thousand times for those good, strong trousses, so glad I am that the old fellow didn't have the pleasure of his dinner from me! not so much for the worth of the leg (for she often gave me trouble with rheumatics—hegh! hegh!—and she does now, though she's buried safe in Glasgow! True as I'm here she does!), but to spite the old shark! 'Not for the worth of the loaf,' as the woman said, 'but for the roguery of the baker!'—hegh! hegh! hegh!" (Stump, stump, stump.)

"Keep the rest till to-night, 'n'wncwl Jos," said Hugh Morgan, joining in the laugh which followed the story; "I'm coming in to have a pipe with you. How is Mari?"

"Mari!" said the old man, with a strangely softened look on his sunburnt, shining face. "Mari! oh, she's very well, calon fâchl[10] she is well, indeed; though, now I remember, she had a headache—there's a brute I am to forget!" and off he stumped in great haste to make up for his forgetfulness.

Gwladys dried her tears of laughter, and applied herself with renewed attention to the huge sail, of which she held one corner, while Gwen sewed at the other.

"'Tis heavy for thee, lass," said Hugh Morgan, drawing near, and rolling a log under the corner which Gwladys was working at.

The girl smiled, but looked a little embarrassed by the Mishteer's kindness.

"Oh, no! no heavier than Gwen's corner, Mishteer, and I am quite as strong."

It was said innocently, and Hugh knew it was; but a deep flush overspread his face as he turned to the other girl, and offered her the same help.

"The same log will do for both," he said.

"Oh, no need," said Gwen, with a slight sneer in her voice, as much as she dared show the Mishteer; "of course this corner is lighter than the other."

As Hugh passed on to another set of workers, she looked after him with a slowly dawning perception in her eyes.

"He is very kind to thee," she said, looking at Gwladys under her half-closed lids; "what has come over him?"

"Wel, indeed, he is always kind, isn't he? even to his dogs. See how that little half-drowned dog wags his tail when he passes."

Gwen did not answer; but as her companion proceeded with her work she looked at her furtively from time to time with hatred and jealousy in her eyes.

The afternoon found them again at their work. Gwen had had time, while she drank her cawl and ate her barley bread at dinner, to arrange her ideas.

"Art coming to my wedding on Monday?" she asked carelessly.

"Oh, anwl, of course! Thee'st asked me and mother, and we are coming."

"Madlen is to be my bridesmaid, and Ivor Parry will be the teilwr.[11] Who shall I find for thee? Dye Pentraeth? I have heard thee art fond of him!"

"Dye Pentraeth?" said Gwladys, with perfect composure. "Wel, indeed! he will do very well for me; I will get on all right with him; but I don't think thou hast ever heard I am fond of him, Gwen; thee hast made a mistake."

"Perhaps, indeed!" said Gwen, with a yawn. "Was it Ivor Parry, perhaps? I didn't take much notice."

Now, indeed, Gwladys was moved, and Gwen watched her mercilessly as a crimson flush overspread cheeks, forehead, and neck.

"They were right, too, I see," she said, in a sarcastic tone. "Wel, wel, merch i, 'tis to be hoped he will be pleased when I tell him."

"They were wrong!" said Gwladys, covering her face with both hands for a moment; and then, standing up, she indignantly threw the corner of the sail away from her. "Thee hast insulted me enough! To say I loved a man who did not love me! Wel wyr!" and her fiery Welsh blood surged through her veins, her bosom heaved, and her eyes flashed, and Gwen was satisfied.

"Twt, twt," she said, "there's no need for a beacon fire! I wasn't thinking what I said——"

"Wilt tell him such a thing?" said Gwladys; "if thee dost, I will tell the Mishteer!"

"Not I!" said Gwen; "I have other things to think about." And sitting down to her work again, Gwladys' quick temper subsided as suddenly as it had arisen, and they parted at the end of the day with no outward signs of anger.

Later on, when the sun had set and the sea lisped and murmured down in the little harbour, Gwladys took her creel on her shoulders, and made her way across the wet, shining sands. Her destination was a creek just round the reef of rocks that bounded the harbour on the south side, where Nance Owen gathered her laver weed every day, leaving it in a shady place until Gwladys, to whom the work was a labour of love, could carry it home for her, as she was too weak and infirm herself.

The moon rose round and golden behind the hills, and already threw black shadows across the beach. Gwladys did not sing as usual, but walked slowly with bent head.

Gwen's words rankled in her mind and troubled her much. Her love for Ivor had been so deeply buried, so carefully hidden even from herself, that it pained and shocked her to have it thus dragged into the garish light. But—— "Was Gwen right? did she love him?" and with flushed cheeks she was forced to confess to herself, "Yes—I love him; but he shall never know it!" After crossing the beach, she found the tide was not low enough for her to reach the further creek; so, sitting down, she waited, looking out over the sea which the sunset glow tinted with a coppery red. Suddenly a boat came round the point, and in it Gwladys recognised Ivor. As the prow of the boat grated on the shingle, she rose, and stood uncertain what to do.

"Hello! Gwladys, thee'st mistaken the time to-night, for the tide won't be down for another half hour. See! I have brought the laver weed for thee." And, jumping lightly on the shore, he filled the creel which she carried on her shoulders. "Would'st like a row, lass?"

"Wel, indeed," said Gwladys, "I haven't been on the water a long time; but my mother won't know where I am, whatever."

"Oh! come, we won't be long——"

"Wel, indeed, I don't know," she said again, but at the same time allowing herself to be helped into the boat. Slipping the creel from her shoulders, she took the second oar, for she was as much accustomed to the boats and the rowing as any sailor in the place, having spent the greater part of her childhood on the shore and on the bay. They rowed silently for some time out towards the sunset, where the coppery glow on the water was beginning to catch the silver of the moon on its ripples; then shipping their oars, they floated idly on. Gwladys bent over the side of the boat and drew her fingers through the smooth waters.

The moon shone full on Ivor's handsome and sunburnt face. They did not speak much, but in the hearts of both arose a full tide of content and happiness. They were alone on the heaving, whispering waters; sea and sky seemed to fold them in a mantle of love and beauty; the bewitching softness of the hour threw its glamour over them; and though the strong influence of the situation was felt by both with all the fervour of youth and romance, they kept their feelings under strong restraint, and their conversation was confined to ordinary commonplaces.

"Here's a splendid evening!" said Ivor, stooping also towards the deep green water in the shadow of the boat. His voice was low and tender, and Gwladys drooped her eyes to her fingers rippling through the water.

"Yes, beautiful! And last night was as beautiful!"

"Not quite," said Ivor; "there has never been such a sunset—such a moonrise—I think."

"Perhaps, indeed," said Gwladys.

"Art going to Gwen's wedding?" he asked.

"Yes, I think," she said.

"And to the bidding?"

"Yes, I suppose. Is the Mishteer coming?"

"Not to the wedding, I think," said Ivor, "we couldn't expect the Mishteer to do that, though he is so isel,[12] but to the bidding he will come——"

"Yes, indeed!" said Gwladys, "and with his hand in his pocket I am sure. He is so kind; he gave my mother our cow, you know; indeed, I don't know what we should have done without him since my father died; but let us go back."

"Why," asked Ivor, "art tired? or is there anyone waiting for thee?"

"Tired? no; and nobody is waiting for me, except my mother, perhaps."

"Art sure no lover is waiting thee?"

"I am sure," said Gwladys, raising her brown eyes to his; "I have no lover to wait for me——"

Ivor's eyes trembled as he answered:

"Thee canst not be sure of that, Gwladys; perhaps thee hast one who hides his love from thee?"

"Wel, indeed," she said laughing, "he succeeds in hiding it completely then, for I know of none; but I think my mother will wonder where I am, and Nance will come and look for her laver weed."

Ivor did not speak, but, taking up their oars, they were soon silently cleaving the waves, and drawing near the shore again. The night air swept by them, loosening the girl's hair, which streamed back on the wind, and sometimes, as Ivor bent to the oar, it swept across his face, and for a moment he was tempted with one hand to press it to his lips, while with the other he still handled his oar.

Gwladys looked round. "I thought something pulled my hair?"

"Perhaps!" said Ivor; "who knows? On a night like this the mermaids and mermen come out, and may be one might like to touch thy hair."

Gwladys flushed in the darkness. She was sure it was Ivor's hand that had touched her, and it woke a thrill of happiness within her, an emotion which, however, she instantly smothered.

"He is playing with me," she said, "and he means no more than the sea breeze means when it touches my hair." And they rowed on again in silence, until they reached the strand on one side of the harbour.

"Wilt come another night, Gwladys?"

"Perhaps, indeed," said the girl, settling her creel in its place, and jumping lightly from the prow of the boat on to the rock.

As they parted on the shore, the moon shone full upon her, and Ivor took note afresh of every charm in the varying expression of her face.

"Hast enjoyed it, lass?"

"Yes, to be sure," she answered.

"Wel, nos da."

"Nos da," said Gwladys, beginning her way over the beach.

He did not offer to accompany her, and she thought she understood his reason.

"He would not like to be seen walking with me in the moonlight," she mused. "Well, he is right; but he need not fear I would think he meant anything by it," and she tossed her head proudly as she entered Nance Owen's cottage and deposited her basket of weed on the table.

The house-door stood wide open, the moonlight and the sea wind streaming in together, a few smouldering turfs burnt on the hearth, the old cat sat beside them and blinked, but Nance was out gossiping; and Gwladys went out again, and pursued her uneven path up the village road to her own home with a strange sense of happiness in her heart, which would not be stamped out even by that potent emotion, "Welsh pride."

[1] Front garden.

[2] Lower, or living-room.

[3] Wooden shoes.

[4] Uncle.

[5] Upper-room, or parlour.

[6] Hateful creature.

[7] Leek broth.

[8] All right.

[9] Good Lord!

[10] Dear heart.

[11] Best man. In olden times the man who made the wedding garments was always supposed to see his employer safely through the ceremony, hence the best man is still called the "tailor."

[12] Without pride.