University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.
“Poor Tom of the Cliff.”

At the moment we have introduced
the reader to the Fisher's ocean-cot with
all its picturesque beauties, there was no
human being visible to give it life and
character. There was, indeed, the old
black cat, the parrot, the Newfoundland
dog, and the hornless, short-tailed cow,
the doves, and the martins, and the bee
busy at one of the flowers in the window;
and all these lent life and variety to the
scene. But the presence and voice of
man, the prince over all things on earth,
and without whose presence, though
`sin doth follow him as his shadow,' all
would be barren, desolate, without meaning
or end, were wanting to complete the
scene.

The deep quiet and sunny silence
which we have described, continued for
a little time without interruption. Suddenly
Bonus, the tawny old Newfoundlander,
began to prick up his small,
shapely ears, and gently turn his head
as if to listen. A footstep strikes his
ear, but very faintly. His eye looks
lively and interested, and an expression
of pleasure lights up his fine countenance.
The foot-fall becomes more distinct, and
comes from the direction of the rocky
boundary that overhangs the cottage in
the rear. The dog now lifts his head
and looks eagerly, still listening with the
peculiar air of his race; and now he
very slightly moves his shaggy tail.

The steps come nigher and more fully
marked to the ear. The cat, Kate, now
purrs loudly and moves her long whiskers
in a sort of gratified manner. The Poll
Parrot utters a shrill whistle, and calls
loudly and noisily,

`Kate, how's the weather?'

The martins chirp and fly in eccentric
and more joyous circles about the roof,
and even the ugly, black, spotted cow
lifts her head and gazes for an instant in
the direction of the cliff.

There is now in full sight, slowly descending
a flight of rude steps, formed
partly by art, but mainly by nature, a
young girl dressed in a brown-coloured
calico, and with a large, broad-brimmed,
grass hat upon her head, shading features
most beautiful, as we can see they
are at this distance. As she comes
down the rocks and advances to the
house, coming round to the front, she
moves with a free, graceful step, and an
air at once modest and independent, as if
unconscious of observation and felt unrestrained.
Her figure is slight but
finely moulded, and expressive of the
purest health, to which the rich peach
hue of her nut-brown cheek bears testimony.
Her eyes are large, expansive
and expressive of much feeling while
they are animated with intelligence and
sweetness of character. A smile of the
most charming character plays about her
mouth, and she is singing from very
lightness of heart and absence of care:

She sings like a nightingale, and her
voice is rich and mellow, and full of
feeling. The cliffs take it up and repeat
it as if they would prolong the sweet
sounds.

`But why should I sing,' said she in a
subdued tone, as if reproaching herself.
`I ought to be sad and silent till I know
the fate of those I love. I sing without
thought; my heart is not in the idle songs,
they are on the sea! the sea, which, all
so beautiful and calmly blue as it is, may
be a grave to those dear to me. I will
sing no more.

`Pretty May,' cried the parrot as she
made her appearance in front of the cottage,
and stood near his cage, leaning
upon a staff which she had taken to
support her steps in descending the rocks,
upon which she had been, for the last
half hour, standing and earnestly watching
the ocean, now scanning its faint hue
on the horizon to the east, now surveying
the island outline of the vast prospect on
the west, and now endeavoring to pierce
the infinite open sea that stretched away
to the southward.

`Poor Poll!' responded the maiden,
looking up at her green-coated friend.
`you look as if you wished your master.'

`Poor Poll!' responded the bird in the
same sad tone in which she spoke.

The old cat now rose up, and stretching
at her full length, walked slowly towards
her; and, after walking once
around her, rubbed her glossy hide against
her feet, which were as bare as ever an
Indian girl's, and as brown almost; and
of the most exquisite shape. They were
without doubt or question the prettiest little
pair of feet in the world. The hand
too was the fellow of the feet; small, taper,
and faultlessly designed, from the
bared elbow to the rosy nails.

One could see now, as she stood by
the cottage door, how darkly beautiful
were her eyes; how rich the rosy blush
upon her cheek that mocked the most
artful carnation of the toilet: how abundant
and softly flowing in a mass of shining
waves was her raven hair; how deep,
and transparently clear, the scarlet ripeness
of her charming lips; how long the
dark fringe of lashes that shaded the fire
of her eyes; and how altogether lovely,

and without compare, was this maiden of
the cliff.

The Newfoundlander now rose, and
shaking his huge form, walked towards
her, with the majestic, friendly carriage
peculiar to his race. His hazel eye
beamed upon her with a protecting complacency,
and looking up into her face,
he wagged his huge tail, and then raising
his clean white paw, laid it affectionately
in her hand.

`Good Bonus!' she said kindly, as she
patted his large head. `You feel as lonely
as I do without your master. Even
old Kate here can't bear to be left alone.
She understands that something is wrong;
that my father is not always so long
away. How they rejoice, poor things,
when they see me return even after a
few minutes absence, as if they feared I
should leave them, too, with no one but
poor Tom; and they know as well as
any one that Tom is witless.'

`Who calls Tommy?' said a shrill,
crackled voice, from a shady covert,
where a few myrtle bushes grew near a
large fragment of rock that lay upon the
ground at the end of the cottage. The
sound of the voice was very extraordinary,
as if compounded of the hoarse,
base voice of a man, and the sharp tenor
of a small boy. It had a complaining,
impatient key, too, as if natural to it.

`You may well ask who calls Tom,'
answered the young girl, with a smile on
her lip, and a slight frown upon her brow,
as she raised her finger and shook it at a
short, square built human figure, with high
shoulders, and a large head sunk between
them to the ears. He was about four
feet and a half in height, and full twenty
one years of age. His legs were very
short, and his arms so long that he could
take things from the ground with very
little stooping. His head, which was
enormously large for his dwarfish stature,
was crowned with coarse yellow hair,
that grew long, and thick, and bushy,
like a mop over his brow, which was
square and projecting. His eye-brows
were as black as jet, and strikingly contrasted
his hair and complexion, the latter
being white and sandy; and his eyes
were also small, and of a whitey blue tint.

His features otherwise were not only
good, but decidedly handsome. His
nose and mouth and chin were elegant
and manly counterparts of those of the
maiden, to which they bore a marked
likeness.

But here the resemblance ceased, a resemblance
physical rather than intellectual;
for the features, which she animated
with soul and feeling, on his face
were characterised only by the sottish
and unmeaning expression of folly and
imbecility. There was no mind in them.
As she said, even the dog and cat could
tell that poor Tom was witless.

He was dressed in a common fisherman's
duck trowsers, shortened at the
knee, leaving the leg bare below; in a
linsey-woolsey jacket, and a woollen
shirt of faded yellow flannel. His head
was surmounted by a red cap, in which
was stuck a piece of evergreen as an ornament;
and around his neck and upon
his wrists were strings of small, beautiful
sea-shells, mingled with coral, and a perforated
penny or two, worn bright with
the fingers, which were constantly playing
with them.

He held in his hand a bunch of twine
and a large wooden needle used in netmaking.
The expression of his features,
as he saw the maiden, was that of mingled
affection and fear.

`Ah, Tom,' she said in a kindly tone,
`I fear you will never get the net done
if you are so idle. You no sooner see
me go away than you go off and lay
down to sleep. An't you quite ashamed
to be so lazy!'

`Tom very tired,' answered the idiot.

`If one would let you, you would sleep
under the trees from sunrise to sunset,
Tom. You don't have to work very
hard. Come, finish your task!'

The dwarf approached the cord which
was stretched between the two trees and
began, with an idolence of movement
that was amusing, to attach a strand to
one of the knots, while he kept his eye
over one shoulder upon the young girl
who stood near, watching him.

`Sister May!' at length said the dwarf
turning round and fixing his large lustrous
eyes upon her; `where is father?
Is he dead?'

The face of the young girl grew suddenly
pale, and she answered quickly,

`Nay, I pray not, Tom!'

`Why don't he come home, then?—
The sun has set nine times since he went
away! I'm tired bein' alone here. I'd
rather father 'd be here, if he does beat
me; coz I'm afraid?'

`Afraid of what?'

`Of devils, May.'

`There are none here,' answered the
maiden, shuddering in spite of herself,
and yet smiling.

`You can't see 'em, coz you are good,
May; and they don't come round the
good foik. But if you was as ugly and
bad as I am, you'd see 'em plenty!'

`You are not bad, Tom. You are
only —'

`Only a half-grown monster. That is
it, May,' said the dwarf, turning round
and speaking with an energy and vehemence
she had never before witnessed
in him; for his general manner was
inert and lethargic.

`Who told you you were a monster?'
she asked, with amazement.

`Who? If you had been in my head
last night when I was sleeping, you
wouldn't ask that! I saw him plain as I
see Bonus there!'

`Saw who?'

`The old 'un, May. He came and
danced round me, now stannin' right up
on his tail, and on his head whirling
round like a top, and then he'd come aclose
to me and make mouths, and jabber
and grin and say, `Tommy, how do
you do? You are a nice person, Tommy—a
brave man, Tommy, with your
head between your shoulders, and a back
like a whale. You are a monster, Tommy,
and no body loves you.'

`You were dreaming, brother,' said
May, trying to laugh off the unpleasant
feeling which his words occasioned.—
`I love you if no body else does!' she
added, taking his huge hairy hand in
her's, and patting his shaggy forehead
with affection. `Don't mind such dreams,
Tommy! You are good, and sister May
loves you!'

`If you love me I don't care for the
devil, coz you can keep him off! He's
afraid of you. He knows you are good,
and if you will love me, I'll not be afraid
of him any more!'

`That is brave, Tom! Now go to
your task, for you know you are happier
when you are at work.