 | CHAPTER XVI.
TRACES OF THE LOST. The new priest in Conception Bay |  |
16. CHAPTER XVI.
TRACES OF THE LOST.
WITHIN the half hour that he had mentioned,
the Minister had got back from his own house,
and the constable joined him near Skipper
George's door. It was a dull, dreary-looking hour of
day, so thick that the Minister and his companion soon
hid themselves “multo nebulæ circum amictu.”[1]
“Jesse Barbury will join us presently,” said the Minister,
as they crossed the ridge. “I want to follow out his
story, if nothing comes of it, even. We'll keep down the
path, and he can't miss us, though the light is long coming,
this cloudy morning. We can wait a little for him at
the rock, there. I should like to hear something more
about her sickness.”
The earth and its growth were wet, and hung with
drops, but it was not raining now. The early morning
air was chilly and thick, and nothing at a little distance
could be seen. While Gilpin was telling the story of the
maiden's fever, of which the reader knows more than the
constable told, the light of day gradually spread itself; at
first exposing the mist, and afterwards driving it away.
In the little time that they were standing, a short, sharp
fall of rain came down upon them, and then the clouds
began to break. The light fast opened the whole landscape
of the neighborhood in which the sad and mysterious
event had taken place.
“It's clearing off finely,” said the Minister, with a hopeful
tone of augury.
“Yes, sir,” said the constable, with little sound of the
same feeling in his answer.
“That's a queer chap, that Yankee that was in the
kitchen, sir,” he resumed, after a pause; “and he's got
some pretty 'cute notions, too. He says she's gone off to
the Urstons' house in a fit o' craziness. You know it's
said, sir, there was something between the young people;
however he found it out.”
“Most likely she has gone out in one of those fits,”
said Mr. Wellon; “but Jesse Hill's the point that we're
to begin at, I think; I've sent for Jesse —.”
“And there he's coming now, sir, over the gool'-bushes
yonder. I see his great fur cap, and his great red whiskers
under it, like a forge-fire.”
“We'll find out about this sight of his first, if we can,”
said the Minister. “By the way, we forgot to take the
dog!” added he, suddenly.
“No, sir, he came along. There he is, sir, nosing
about yonder. We've had a dozen of 'em out, and he
too;—Susan brought un.”
“We'll give him another chance to-day,” said his master;
“but this rain isn't much in his favor, or ours
either.”
“Jesse Barbury, or Jesse Hill, came up, conspicuous
for red whiskers and freckles, but looking honestly sad.
“Sarvant, sir!” he said to the Minister, lifting his hat;
“Hope 'ee're hearty, Mister Gulpin.”
“We're going down the Backside, Jesse. Will you
go along and see if we can make out whereabouts that
white thing was when you saw it?”
“Sartin, sir,” said Jesse Hill, falling into the rear while
they took the path through the bushes, as a boat in tow
might fall astern.
As they were far enough over to have the land going
right down between them and the shore, the Minister,
keeping his eyes toward the water, inquired of Jesse
whereabouts his punt had been the evening before at the
time of the vision.
“Sir!” said Jesse, emphatically, by way of exclamation,
not question, and evidently glad to be opened, “ef
'ee plase to bring yon var (fir) on wi' the road at tother
side, sir, up over, we was about a fourth part o' the w'y
acrost, sir; and Izik Maffen, that was along—”
“And where was the figure when you first saw it?”
asked the Minister, cutting gently off the tail of Jesse
Hill's discourse.
“It comed right out of a big bush, seemunly, sir,—to
my seemun, sir, and Izik Maffen—.”
“Would you know the bush if you could see it?”
“Mubbe I mought, sir. I can' be rightly sure, sir—
to say sure, sir.”
“What color was it, Jesse? Was it yellow, or red?”
asked the constable.
“Wull, Mr. Gulpin, it was dark lookun; I couldn' say
gezacly, but 'twas dark-lookun; and Iz—.”
“That's pretty well, Jesse; you kept all the wits you
had about you, if you did get frightened. Can you see
it from here?”
The fisherman surveyed the whole surrounding scenery
with an eye that from infancy, almost, had learned to note
landmarks; and here were plenty of bushes to choose
from,—a wilderness of them,—but he recognized none.
Here and there, at a distance, were still scattered a few
persons who seemed to be searching.
“Ef I was down at tother side o' they bushes,” he
began.
“Surely, Jesse, that's only reasonable; you're a better
sailor than I be.”
“Ay, Jesse,” said the Minister, who had been looking
with eager but sad eyes over the waste; “get down
somewhere where you can see it as you saw it before.
That's Mister Urston's house over there?”
“Is, sure, sir; that's 'e's house, sir,” answered Jesse.
“There's that new Popish priest, talking with Skipper
George!” said Gilpin; and as the Minister turned, he
saw the companion of his walk of a few days before,
standing uncovered, (perhaps out of respect to the bare
head of the sorrowing father,) and so engaged as not to
see Mr. Wellon and his party.
“Yes, that was he!” exclaimed Mr. Wellon.
“Yes, sir, and that's just their way of going on,” said
the constable.
“He won't lead George Barbury astray,” said the
Minister, giving a long look, however, in that direction.
“'Deed, 'e wou'n't, then,” said Jesse Hill; and the
party again set forward, Mr. Wellon last.
“Thisam's the path from Uncle Georgie's w'y,” said
Jesse, as they struck it. Having gone down some distance
upon it, Jesse said:—
“Woul' 'ee be so well plased as bide here a spurt, sir?
an' I'll come back to 'ee, in short.”
Behind them, just at a turn of the way, was a large
bush. Jesse walked down the path, noting the bearings
on each side, and turning round once, he soon came to
a stand.
“Plase to fall astarn a bit, Mr. Gulpin,” he called out;
and the constable-smith did as directed.
Suddenly they were all startled by the running of one
of the distant parties towards them. The dog gave a
short bark. “There's Izik, now, sir!” said Jessie, loud
enough to be heard from where he stood.
“Have you found any signs of her?” asked Mr. Wellon,
as the new party drew near. Their answer destroyed
all hope from that source; they had only come to offer to
help the Parson, “seeing he seemed to be sarchin', like.”
“Well, Jesse!” said the constable.
“Avast, a bit!” was Jesse's answer. “So!” and he
came back again.
“Thisam's the bush, sir,” said he. Ef 'ee'll plase to
look, just as Mr. Gulpin's a comun out from behind un,
sir, jesso what I sid comed out, an' goed right down here,
didn't 'em, Izik?”
The substance, who had come to represent the name
that had hitherto been so frequent on Jessie's tongue, was
a gaunt, hard-featured fellow, and why Jesse should have
been his leader and principal, (unless because he was not
quite as ugly, or was, perhaps, better off,) was hard to say.
The bush stood in such a way at the turning of the
path, that a short man or a woman might, on the other
side, have been hidden for a little distance; the ground
being for a few rods hollow, and then ascending again.
Izik Maffen, appealed to, looked dutifully at Jesse
Hill from under his woollen cap,[2]
and made his answer:—
“I's sure 'e did, then, Jesse.”
“We can come back this way; let us go down to
where she disappeared, if we can find it,” said the Minister.
“Do 'ee think has the Pareson got track o' she?” said
one of the new followers, aside,—a silent, quiet man, who
generally kept himself back.
The sun, rising, as he was, had found a place between
the clouds to look out through upon the earth, and upon
the sad search that these few men were making, without
a trace to guide them, and where all had been already
searched. The sea shone before him, and myriads of
rain-drops glistened on all sides; the green was fairer
and brighter everywhere than usual; but if there could
have been any possibility of tracing, at any time, foot-prints
on the rough and gravelly path that they were following,
this rain had washed all slight prints, of whatever
kind, away, had made its own marks, heaped up its little
black gatherings of mould from the bushes on the white
earth, and filled all lesser hollows with water.
“Did it go all the way down here, Jesse?” asked Mr.
Wellon.
“'Is, sir,” answered Jesse Hill; “sometimes we sid it,
an' more times agin we didn' see it; but it goed like a
white sail, in a manner, sir, passin' by the green bushes;
it didn' walk, seemunly, to my seemun; and Izik Maffen,
that was along wi' I, —.”
“Where did you see the last of it?”
“Down a bit, sir, by the house.”
Mr. Urston's house stood along by the bank or cliff,
and for some little distance round it the bushes were
cleared off. The garden, inclosed with its “pickets,”
stretched before it, towards the land, (or behind it, if the
dozen rods, perhaps; the house itself was uninclosed,
and, in our country style, a comfortable looking dwelling,
and in good keeping-up. Some firs and other growth,
which had got far enough up the precipice to stand a
little above its edge, would have prevented any person
very near the house from being seen from the place in
which Jesse Hill and his comrade had been on the
water.
The dogs of Newfoundland are not unlike the dogs of
other countries in their dealings with one another; and
the intrusion or near approach of a stranger is a thing
about which the dog at home gets to his feet, and puts up
his tail, and bristles his mane, and shows his teeth.
As the Minister and his `following' drew towards the
house, great care was taken to prevent a fight between
his dog and a large brindled fellow that lay growling on
the flat stone before Mr. Urston's door; and the fight
was prevented; the proper occupant of the place being
left undisturbed to his occupation, and the other being
marched off, with the tramp of many shod feet, and exhortations
from several voices mingled with his own,
toward the cliff or steep bank (for the shore was in one
place one, and in another place the other) at the water-side.
A wild and picturesque chasm, called the “Worrell,”
was broken out of the rock near the house, approached
on the eastern side by a slope of the land which was continued
in a ledge down the face of the landward wall, to
some broken masses of rock at the bottom. A bit of
gray beach lay among and beside these rocks; and while
the water came freely in, and was sheltered entirely on
three sides, there was also a jutting out of one of the
across the opening, and to form a little safe cove with a
sand bottom, entirely defended by cliffs. Here Mr. Urston
kept several punts, and others resorted to the spot
for a convenient landing-place. Small trees had got a
foothold here and there on the broken walls of this hole
in the shore; and near the top, where soil had been
washed over, bushes were growing.
The fishermen looked to the Minister as he scanned
carefully all sides, and the rocks and beach at the bottom;
and they also examined with their eyes the neighboring
ground, and in a low voice carried on their speculations
with each other.
“How long did you stay where you were after the
white thing had disappeared?” he asked, turning round
to Jesse, who, with Isaac close at hand, was waiting to be
called upon again.
“Well now, I couldn' rightly say, Pareson Wellon,
how long it was, sir; not to say gezac'ly, sir; but it were
a short spurt; for Izik says to I, ses he, —.”
The actual Isaac seemed not to have supplanted the
historical one, whom Jesse had so frequently introduced;
but Jesse had no touch of any thing but solemn seriousness
in his way of telling what he knew.
“Did you keep on looking,” asked the Minister.
“'Is sir, 'deed we did, sir; we kep' lookin' so str'ight
as a needle pointin', in a manner, sir;—but we never sid
nothin' after that,—no more, sir.”
“No more we didn', sure enough,” affirmed his faithful
Isaac, solemnly.
“I can tell 'ee now, sir,” said Jesse, who had recollected
himself; “we'd jest asid a punt comin' round
Castle-Bay Point, when we first cotch sight o' thisam'
Izik, I says—”
“And when you came away, where was the punt,
Jesse?”
“When we comed aw'y, sir, they was about a half
w'ys up to we sir, wi' oars an' wind, doin' their best; an'
I sid it was Naathan—”
“How long would that take them?”
“Could n' 'ave abin less than five minutes, sir; that's
a sure case.”
Isaac was appealed to by a look of the speaker, and
affirmed the statement.
“That's a sure case, Jesse,” said he.
“And you watched, all that time?”
“'Is, sir, we did, sir; an' a long time arter that; so
long as ever we could see the place, while we was rowing
aw'y.”
“Was it getting dark?”
“No, Pareson, it wasn' gettun dark; the sun had jest
aknocked off. It mought be a' twilight, sir. We was
jes comun home, however, sir, an' I ses—”
A sudden noisy altercation of the dogs diverted for the
moment all attention toward the house. Mr. Urston's
“Ducker” had come out to the path, and it had needed
but a moment to embroil him with the stranger.
“Mr. Gilpin!” exclaimed the Minister, at this alarm.
“'E isn' 'ere, sir,” answered one of the company; but at
the moment the constable appeared at the corner of the
house, and set himself, understandingly, to the work of
keeping the noisy debaters asunder.
Immediately behind appeared a woman of about sixty
years, announced among Mr. Wellon's company as `Granny
Calloran'! whom we have called young Urston's nurse.
away with age seems to leave the essence of will and
energy, concentrated, after the manner of a chemical
evaporation. Her features, too, had that expression of
standing out, that befits such a character.
Without noticing Gilpin, who had the Minister's dog by
the collar, she set herself directly in front of the other,
putting her apron over his face. At the same time, with
a brisk blow of the foot, she sent what had, very likely,
been the object of contention into the open hole of the
dog's kennel, under the corner of the house, near which
Gilpin stood. The constable, as suddenly snatched it
out.
“It's a bad ould book, that's afther bein' burnt,” said
Mrs. Calloran, who saw the motion, holding out her hand
for the blackened and shrivelled mass, which had been,
moreover, disfigured by the teeth of the dog.
“Jesse, lay hold o' the dog, a bit, will 'ee?” said Gilpin,
as the men drew up; and four hands were immediately
laid upon Eppy, and a fur cap and a woollen bonnet
met together in the operation.
“It's got pretty good stuff in it, for a bad book,” proceeded
the constable, as he carefully disengaged some of
the leaves from their sticking together. “Here's prayers,
for one thing.”
“Ah! thin, it's me darter's prayer-book she was
lookin' for, this while back, an' niver got a sight of it,
good or bad,” said Mrs. Calloran; “an' I'm thankful to
ye for findin' it this day.”
She again held out her hand for it; but the finder
seemed in no hurry to part with it.
“You may thank the dogs for that,” said he, continuing
his examination; “it's an English Prayer-Book, any
don't think.”
“An', sure, isn't all our prayer-books English? D'ye
think, do we pray in Hebrew-Greek?” retorted Mrs.
Calloran, getting warm; “ar what?”
She attempted to recover the book by a sudden snatch,
and set the dog free by the same movement. The one-eyed
constable was too quick for her; but the dog muttered,
mischievously.
At this moment, the sound of horse-hoofs upon the
stony ground made itself heard, even among men whose
attention was occupied as was that of Gilpin and his companions.
“There's another of 'em!” muttered the constable,
aside.—“That's Father Nicholas, they calls un.—There's
rather too many of those gents for my likin',” he continued,
in his aside, “'tisn't eight o'clock, yet; two of 'em,
in two or three hours, don't mean any good, I'll go bail.”
The horseman was coming, at a good quick trot, along
the path near the edge of the cliff, from the direction of
Castle-Bay.
Mrs. Calloran, as if aware, by sight or hearing, of
this powerful reinforcement close at hand, (informed, perhaps,
by Gilpin's remarks,) renewed her strength; and
her face gleamed with satisfaction, even in the midst of
its looks of vexation. She secured the dog, however.
While this animal was working himself up to a rage,
and the other, also, who was in charge of the fishermen,
answered growl for growl, young Mr. Urston appeared,
and changed the state of things. With his voice and his
foot, he speedily persuaded Ducker to go inside of the
house, and leave the field to other arbitrators.
“I'll talk with Mr. Gilpin, Granny,” said he.
“An' can't I do that, meself?” asked she. “Well,
thin, Mr. Galpin, (an' Mr. Galpin I believe it is, indeed,)
let's have no words upon it (an' yerself a man that's set
over the peace); but will ye give me the book, quite an'
paceable, that ye tuk from this house? an' meself 'll
lave ye to yer company: an' there's enough o' thim that
ye wouldn't feel lonely, walkin' away from this, I'm
thinkin'.”
“If Mr. Urston will look here a minute, (I suppose he
won't be afraid of a Protestant book,) I'll show him, in a
jiffey,” answered the constable. “There!” said he, as
the young man followed his invitation. “I'm sure if that
isn't Church, the Archbishop of Canterbury isn't Church.
`Articles agreed upon by the Archbishops and Bishops of
both Provinces, and the whole Clergy:'—and there's
`Articles of the Church of England.' Does that book
belong here?”
“No, indeed,” said James Urston, “it's not your book,
Granny, and it does not belong to any one here.”
“There seems to be some little misunderstanding
between you and your excellent neighbors,” said a new
voice, very blandly; and the priest, whom Gilpin had
called Father Nicholas, appeared, on foot, near the house.
He was a man in the prime of life, and of an appearance
that would strike even a rude man, at first glance. His
eyes were deep-set and dark, with a high forehead, firm,
sharp lips, and a complexion like slightly-yellowed ivory,
contrasting strongly with his black hair. There was a
settled look of authority about him; and he had the
reputation of being one whose influence was not less that
of a man of superior mind, than one who bore a sacred
office. Almost less was popularly known or reported
about this gentleman's history, than about that of the
Nicholas had been two years and more in the neighborhood,—and
the other, two weeks.
His appearance disconcerted and drove into temporary
retreat behind the picket-fence one of the Peterport Protestants,
(the silent and withdrawing man,) rather abashed
Jesse and Isaac, who were holding the dog, and even
slightly startled Mister Charles Gilpin, smith and constable;
but men's minds were serious and saddened, and not
likely to yield to passing emotions;—Gilpin's blood was
warmed, and that of his followers was ready to back
him; and so, with the second breath, religious antipathy
gave them a very determined manner, and the eye of
their leader took a new brightness. The Minister, before
the altercation began, had gone down into the Worrell,
(the chasm before-described,) and had not come up.
The priest having given the different parties time to
compose themselves, spoke again:—
“Perhaps your neighbors will excuse you for coming
in with me, now, as my business is important, and my time
valuable. James, will you do me the favor to come in?”
“We're about pretty solemn business, too, sir,” said the
constable. “Before I go, I've got a word to say: I'm
not going off as if I'd been robbing a hen-roost. I beg
you to look, sir,—Jesse, and the rest of you, you see: this
bit of a burnt book, I mean to carry with me.”
“It'll be rather dainty reading,” said the priest, with a
smile, as he turned to go into the house.
“I can make something out of it, plain enough,” said
the constable.
Mrs. Calloran here said something, aside, to Father
Nicholas, who again addressed Gilpin:—
“If you'll let me speak, as a disinterested party, I
a near relation of Mrs. Calloran's, for whose sake she
values it.”
The constable, in a low voice, commented upon this
suggestion as follows:—
“She's took good care over it; and she's tried it, like
pure gold, seven times in the fire. She forgot one commandment,
about giving holy things to dogs. When I
came here, the dog was gnawing at it.”
“'M!” said Jesse Hill and Isaac Maffen, emphatically.
“Very well,” said the priest, as blandly as before.
“I'm told this is the constable: he knows the law, no
doubt; and he knows the difference between `robbing a
hen-roost,' as he says, and taking a book that doesn't
belong to him.”
“I think, sir,” answered Gilpin, I'm rather nearer to
this book, or what's left of it, than Mrs. Calloran is.
It's what you call a heretical book, to begin with; and
that don't look like her caring much about un; and,
what's more, he belonged to a friend o' mine, and if Mrs.
Calloran wants to claim un, she knows where to come,
and if she'll prove her property, she shall have un. It's
worth more now than ever it cost.”
“There must be some mistake, Mrs. Calloran,” said
Father Nicholas. “You'd best drop the thing where
it is.”
“Lave Skipper Charlie alone for talk,” said one to another
of the constable's followers, naturally feeling not a
little proud at his force of tongue. The constable himself
suddenly took another subject.
“Mrs. Calloran,” said he, “did you see Mr. Barbury's
daughter since yesterday morning?”
“Misther Barbury's darter! an' did I see her? Do
ye think is it visitin' her I was, that wasn't in it or nigh it,
those many years! How would I be seeun Misther Barbury's
darter? There's other ould women in Peterport,
I'm thinkin'.”
“Ay! but did you see her?” repeated the constable,
holding on like a mastiff.
“An' sure,” answered the woman, “wouldn't wan answer
do ye? An' what for must ye be afther comun,
that has no call to it, an' the father himself beun here
last evenun?”
“But you might answer a plain question, and a short
one, with a plain, short answer, I think,” persisted the
constable.
“Sure is this the place to come askun for Lucy Barbury?
An' isn't her father's house the fit place to look
for her, besides axun meself, when it's sorrow a sight I
seen of her in years, I suppose? What would I do wid
Lucy Barbury?”
“I can't make you answer, if you won't answer of your
own accord; but there's some that can,” said the constable.
“An' didn't ye hear me sayun I didn't know if I seen
her in years? I dono did I or no,” answered the unconquerable
woman.
“But that isn't answering my question either; I asked
if you'd seen her since yesterday morning,” persisted
Skipper Charlie.
Young Urston seemed rather inclined to have this examination
go on than to interrupt it. The Priest, however,
mediated.
“Mrs. Calloran will doubtless be willing to answer any
reasonable question,” said he. “I suppose you have some
saw this young person, or old person, whichever it is,
yesterday? Whether she got some message from her,
perhaps?”
“No, sir,” said Gilpin; “Mr. Barbury's daughter's
missing, and we want to find her, or find out what's become
of her.”
“Is it left her father's house? Sure that's not a very
good story of a young woman,” said Mrs. Calloran, moralizing.
“Granny!” said young Urston, sternly, “you'll please
not to speak disrespectfully.”
“If it's lost she is, thin may God find her!” said she,
more softly.
“Of course it will be cleared up,” said the Priest;
“there's some explanation of it; and I only hope it will
come out happily for all. You can say whether you
know where she is, or any thing about her, Mrs. Calloran,
and you needn't keep your neighbors waiting.”
“Sure thin, yer riverence, Father Nicholas,” said Mrs.
Calloran, “it's not meself asked thim to wait; but if it's
where's Lucy Barbury, indade I dono, more than I know
where the injens is.”
“Now, Mr. Constable, I shall be glad if you're satisfied,
as I'm pressed for time; but I won't hurry you.”
“I haven't got any thing more to ask just now, sir,”
said the constable.
“Then I'll wish you good morning,” said the priest,
and went into the house, followed by Mrs. Calloran.
Before going in after them Mr. Urston said,—
“She nursed me as early as I can remember, almost;
but if it were necessary to dig down my father's house to
find a trace, I say, go on! I'll build it again.”
| CHAPTER XVI.
TRACES OF THE LOST. The new priest in Conception Bay | |