CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.
SHOWS HOW OLIVER AND HIS FRIEND WENT TO NEWLYN AND SAW THE MACKERELMARKET, AND FOUND SOME DIFFICULTIES AND MYSTERIES AWAITING THEM THERE.
The beach opposite Newlyn presented a busy scene when Oliver Trembathand his friend Charlie Tregarthen reached it.
Although the zenith of the season was over, mackerel fishing was stillgoing on there in full vigour, and immense crowds of men, women, andchildren covered the sands. The village lies on the heights above, andcrowds of people were leaning over the iron rails which guard the unwaryor unsteady passenger from falling into the sea below. A steep causewayconnects the main street above with the shore beneath; and up and downit horses, carts, and people were hurrying continuously.
True, there was not at that time quite as much bustle as may bewitnessed there at the present day. The railway has penetrated theseremote regions of the west, and now men work with a degree of feverishhaste that was unknown then. While hundreds of little boats (tenders tothe large ones) crowd in on the beach, auctioneers with long heavy bootswade knee-deep into the water, followed and surrounded by purchasers,and, ringing a bell as each boat comes in, shout,--"Now, then, fivehundred, more or less, in this boat; who bids? Twenty shillings ahundred for five hundred--twenty shillings--say nineteen--I'm bidnineteen--nineteen-and-six--say nineteen-an--twenty--twenty shillingsI'm bid--say twenty-one--shall I make it twenty-one shillings for anyperson?" etcetera.
The bells and voices of these auctioneers, loud though they be, are mildcompared with the shouts of men, women, and children, as the fish arepacked in baskets, with hot haste, to be in time for the train; andhorses with laden carts gallop away over the sands at furious speed,while others come dashing back for more fish. And there is need for allthis furious haste, for trains, like time and tide, wait for no man, andprices vary according to trains. Just before the starting of one, youwill hear the auctioneers put the fish up at 20 shillings, 25 shillings,and even 30 shillings a hundred, and in the next half-hour, after thetrain is gone, and no chance remains of any more of the fish being gotinto the London market by the following morning, the price suddenlyfalls to 8 shillings a hundred, sometimes even less. There is need forhaste, too, because the quantity of fish is very great, for there aresometimes two hundred boats at anchor in the bay, each with fourthousand fish on the average, which must all be washed and packed infour or five hours. Yes, the old days cannot be compared with thepresent times, when, between the months of April and June, the threehundred boats of Mounts Bay will land little short of three thousandtons of mackerel, and the railway, for the mere carriage of these toLondon, Manchester, Birmingham, etcetera, will clear above 20,000pounds!
Nevertheless, the busy, bustling, hearty nature of the scene on Newlynbeach in days of yore was not so very different as one might supposefrom that of the present time. The men were not less energetic thenthan now; the women were not less eager; the children were quite as wildand mischievous, and the bustle and noise apparently, if not really, asgreat.
"What interests you?" asked Charlie Tregarthen, observing that hiscompanion gazed pointedly at some object in the midst of the crowd.
"That old woman," said Oliver; "see how demurely she sits on yonderupturned basket, knitting with all her might."
"In the midst of chaos," observed Tregarthen, laughing; "and she looksas placidly indifferent to the noise around her as if it were only themurmuring of a summer breeze, although there are two boys yelling at hervery ear at this moment."
"Perhaps she's deaf," suggested Oliver.
Tregarthen said he thought this highly probable, and the two remainedsilent for some time, watching, from an elevated position on the roadleading down to the sands, the ever-changing and amusing scene below.Talk of a pantomime, indeed! No Christmas pantomime ever got up in thegreat metropolis was half so amusing or so grand as that summerpantomime that was performed daily on Newlyn sands, with admission toall parts of the house--the stage included--for nothing! The scenerywas painted with gorgeous splendour by nature, and embraced thepicturesque village of Newlyn, with its irregular gables, variouslytinted roofs, and whitewashed fronts; the little pier with its modestharbour, perfectly dry because of the tide being out, but which, even ifthe tide had been in, and itself full to overflowing, could notapparently have held more than a dozen of the larger fishing-boats; thecalm bay crowded with boats of all sizes, their brown and yellow sailsreflected in the clear water, and each boat resting on its own image.On the far-off horizon might be seen the Lizard Point and the open sea,over which hung red and lurid clouds, which betokened the approach of astorm, although, at the time, all nature was quiet and peaceful. Yes,the scenery was admirably painted, and nothing could exceed theperfection of the acting. It was so _very_ true to nature!
Right in front of the spot where the two friends stood, a fisherman satastride of an upturned basket, enjoying a cup of tea which had beenbrought to him by a little girl who sat on another upturned basket athis side, gazing with a pleased expression into his rugged countenance,one cheek of which was distended with a preposterously large bite ofbread and butter. The great Mathews himself never acted his part sowell. What admirable devotion to the one engrossing object in hand!What a perfect and convincing display of a hearty appetite! Whatobvious unconsciousness of being looked at, and what a genuine andsudden burst of indignation when, owing to a touch of carelessness, hecapsized the cup, and poured the precious tea upon the thirsty sand. Atthe distance from which Oliver and his friend observed him, no wordswere audible, but none were necessary. The man's acting was so perfectthat they knew he was scolding the little girl for the deed which hehimself had perpetrated. Then there was something peculiarly touchingin the way in which he suddenly broke into a short laugh, and patted thechild's head while she wiped out the cup, and refilled it from thelittle brown broken-nosed teapot hitherto concealed under her raggedshawl to keep it warm. No wizard was needed to tell, however, that thiswas quite an unnecessary piece of carefulness on the little girl's part,for any brown teapot in the world, possessing the smallest amount offeeling, would have instantly made hot and strong tea out of cold wateron being pressed against the bosom of that sunny child!
Just beyond this couple, three tired men, in blue flannel shirts, longboots, and sou'-westers, grouped themselves round a bundle of straw toenjoy a pipe: one stretched himself almost at full length on it, in lazynonchalance; another sat down on it, and, resting his elbows on hisknees, gazed pensively at his pipe as he filled it; while the thirdthrust his hands into his pockets, and stood for a few seconds with agrand bend at the small of his back (as if he felt that his musclesworked easily), and gazed out to sea. The greatest of the old masterscould have painted nothing finer.
Away to the right, an old man might be seen tying up the lid of a basketfull of fish beside his cart, and dividing his attention between thebasket and the horse, which latter, much to his surprise, was unwontedlyrestive that evening, and required an unusual number of cautions toremain still, and of threats as to the punishment that would followcontinued disobedience, all of which afforded the most intense andunutterable delight to a very small precocious boy, who, standingconcealed on the off side of the animal, tickled its ear with a strawevery time it bent its head towards the bundle of hay which lay at itsfeet. No clown or pantaloon was there to inflict condign punishment,because none was needed. A brother carter standing by performed thepart, extempore. His eye suddenly lit on the culprit; his whip spranginto the air and descended on the urchin's breech. Horror-struck, hismouth opened responsive to the crack, and a yell came forth that rosehigh above the surrounding din, while his little legs carried him awayover the sands like a ragged leaf driven before the wind.
To the left of this scene (and ignorant of it, for the stage was solarge, the actors were so numerous, and the play so grand, that fewcould do more than attend to their own part) a cripple might be seenwith a crutch hopping actively about. He was a young man; had lost hisleg, by an accident pro
bably, and was looking about for a cast-away fishfor his own supper. He soon found one. Whether it was that one hadbeen dropped accidentally, or that some generous-hearted fish-dealer haddropped one on purpose, we cannot tell, but he did get one--a large fatone, too--and hobbled away as quickly as he could, evidently rejoicing.
The cripple was not the only one who crossed the stage thus lightlyburdened. There were several halt and maimed, and some blind and agedones there, whose desires in regard to piscatorial wealth extended onlyto one, or perhaps two, and they all got what they wanted. That wassufficient for the evening's supper--for the morrow there was no need tocare; they could return to get a fresh supply evening after evening formany a day to come, for it was a splendid mackerel season--such as hadnot been for many years--so said the sages of the village.
There were other groups, and other incidents that would have drawnlaughter as well as tears from sympathetic hearts, but we must forbear.The play was long of being acted out--it was no common play; besides, itis time for _our_ actors to come upon the stage themselves.
"I see old Hitchin," exclaimed Oliver Trembath, starting suddenly out ofa reverie, and pointing into the thickest of the crowd.
"How can you tell? you don't know him," said his companion.
"Know him! Of course I do; who could fail to know him after the graphicdescription the lawyer gave of him? See--look yonder, beside the cartwith the big man in it arranging baskets. D'you see?"
"Which? the one painted green, and a scraggy horse with a bag hanging toits nose?"
"No, no; a little further to the left, man--the one with the broken railand the high-spirited horse. There, there he is! a thin, dried-up,wrinkled, old shabby--"
"Ah! that's the man," exclaimed Tregarthen, laughing. "Come along, andlet's try to keep our eyes on him, for there is nothing so difficult asfinding any one in a crowd."
The difficulty referred to was speedily illustrated by the fact that thetwo friends threaded their way to the spot where the cart had stood, andfound not only that it was gone, but that Hitchin had also moved away,and although they pushed through the crowd for more than a quarter of anhour they failed to find him.
As they were wandering about thus, they observed a very tallbroad-shouldered man talking earnestly in undertones to a sailor-likefellow who was still broader across the shoulders, but not quite sotall. It is probable that Oliver would have paid no attention to them,had not the name of Hitchin struck his ear. Glancing round at the menhe observed that the taller of the two was Joe Tonkin, and the other hisfriend of the Land's End, the famous Jim Cuttance.
Oliver plucked his companion by the sleeve, and whispered him to standstill. Only a few words and phrases reached them, but these weresufficient to create surprise and arouse suspicion. Once, inparticular, Tonkin, who appeared to be losing his temper, raised hisvoice a little, exclaiming,--"I tell 'ee what it is, Cuttance, I do knawwhat you're up to, an' I'll hinder 'ee ef I can."
The man confirmed this statement with a savage oath, to which Cuttancereplied in kind; nevertheless he was evidently anxious to conciliate hiscompanion, and spoke so low as to be nearly inaudible.
Only the words, "Not to-night; I won't do it to-night," reached the earsof the listeners.
At this point Tonkin turned from the smuggler with a fling, muttering inan undertone as he went, "I don't b'lieve 'ee, Cuttance, for thee'rt aliard, so I'll watch 'ee, booy."
Oliver was about to follow Tonkin, when he observed Hitchin himselfslowly wending his way through the crowd. He had evidently heardnothing of the conversation that appeared to have reference to himself,for he sauntered along with a careless air, and his hands in hispockets, as though he were an uninterested spectator of the busy scene.
Oliver at once accosted him, "Pray, sir, is your name Hitchin?"
"It is," replied the old man, eyeing his interrogator suspiciously.
"Allow me to introduce myself, sir--Oliver Trembath, nephew to MrThomas Donnithorne of St. Just."
Mr Hitchin held out his hand, and said that he was happy to meet with anephew of his old friend, in the tone of a man who would much rather notmeet either nephew or uncle.
Oliver felt this, so he put on his most insinuating air, and requestedMr Hitchin to walk with him a little aside from the crowd, as he hadsomething of a private nature to say to him. The old man agreed, andthe two walked slowly along the sands to the outskirts of the crowd,where young Tregarthen discreetly left them.
The moment Oliver broached the subject of the advance of money, Hitchinfrowned, and the colour in his face betrayed suppressed anger.
"Sir," said he, "I know all that you would say to me. It has alreadybeen said oftener than there is any occasion for. No one appears tobelieve me when I assert that I have met with heavy losses of late, andhave no cash to spare--not even enough to pay my debts."
"Indeed, sir," replied Oliver, "I regret to hear you say so, and I canonly apologise for having troubled you on the subject. I assure younothing would have induced me to do so but regard for my uncle, to whomthe continuance of this mine for some time would appear to be a matterof considerable importance; but since you will not--"
"_Wilt_ not!" interrupted Hitchin angrily, "have I not said _can not_?I tell you, young man, that there is a scoundrel to whom I owe a largesum for--for--well, no matter what it's for, but the blackguardthreatens that if I don't--pshaw!--"
The old man seemed unable to contain himself at this point, for heturned angrily away from Oliver, and, hastening back towards the town,was soon lost again in the crowd.
Oliver was so taken by surprise, that he stood still gazing dreamily atthe point where Hitchin had disappeared, until he was roused by a touchon the shoulder from Charlie Tregarthen.
"Well," said he, smiling, "how fares your suit?"
Oliver replied by a burst of laughter.
"How fares my suit?" he repeated; "badly, very badly indeed; why, theold fellow's monkey got up the moment I broached the subject, and I wasjust in the middle of what I meant to be a most conciliating speech,when he flung off as you have seen."
"Odd, very odd," said Tregarthen, "to see how some men cling to theirmoney, as if it were their life. After all, it _is_ life to some--atleast all the life they have got."
"Come now, don't moralise, Charlie, for we must act just now."
"I'm ready to act in any way you propose, Oliver; what do you intend todo? Issue your commands, and I'll obey. Shall we attack the village ofNewlyn single-handed, and set fire to it, as did the Spaniards of old,or shall we swim off to the fleet of boats, cut the cables, bind the menin charge, and set sail for the mackerel fishing?"
"Neither, my chum, and especially not the latter, seeing that athundercloud is about to break over the sea ere long, if I do notgreatly misjudge appearances in the sky; but, man, we must see thistesty old fellow again, and warn him of the danger which threatens him.I feel assured that that rascal Cuttance means him harm, for he letsomething fall in his anger, which, coupled with what we have alreadyheard from the smuggler himself, and from Tonkin, convinces me that evilis in the wind. Now the question is, how are we to find him, forsearching in that crowd is almost useless?"
"Let us go to his house," suggested Tregarthen, "and if he is not athome, wait for him."
"Do you know where his house is?"
"No, not I."
"Then we must inquire, so come along."
Pushing once more through the throng of busy men and women, the friendsascended the sloping causeway that led to the village, and here askedthe first man they met where Mr Hitchin lived.
"Right over top o' hill," replied the man.
"Thank you. That'll do, Charlie, come along," said Oliver, turning intoone of the narrow passages that diverged from the main street of Newlyn,and ascending the hill with giant strides; "one should never beparticular in their inquiries after a place. When I'm told to turn tothe right after the second turning to the left, and that if I go righton till I come to some other turning, t
hat will conduct me point blankto the street that enters the square near to which lies the spot I wishto reach, I'm apt to get confused. Get a general direction if possible,the position indicated by compass is almost enough, and _ask again_.That's my plan, and I never found it fail."