CHAPTER XXII
DEEPENING SHADOWS
But before Coulson was married, many small events happened--smallevents to all but Philip. To him they were as the sun and moon. Thedays when he went up to Haytersbank and Sylvia spoke to him, thedays when he went up and she had apparently no heart to speak to anyone, but left the room as soon as he came, or never entered it atall, although she must have known that he was there--these were hisalternations from happiness to sorrow.
From her parents he always had a welcome. Oppressed by theirdaughter's depression of spirits, they hailed the coming of anyvisitor as a change for her as well as for themselves. The formerintimacy with the Corneys was in abeyance for all parties, owing toBessy Corney's out-spoken grief for the loss of her cousin, as ifshe had had reason to look upon him as her lover, whereas Sylvia'sparents felt this as a slur upon their daughter's cause of grief.But although at this time the members of the two families ceased toseek after each other's society, nothing was said. The thread offriendship might be joined afresh at any time, only just now it wasbroken; and Philip was glad of it. Before going to Haytersbank hesought each time for some little present with which to make hiscoming welcome. And now he wished even more than ever that Sylviahad cared for learning; if she had he could have taken her many apretty ballad, or story-book, such as were then in vogue. He did tryher with the translation of the _Sorrows of Werther_, so popular atthe time that it had a place in all pedlars' baskets, with Law's_Serious Call_, the _Pilgrim's Progress_, Klopstock's _Messiah_, and_Paradise Lost_. But she could not read it for herself; and afterturning the leaves languidly over, and smiling a little at thepicture of Charlotte cutting bread and butter in a left-handedmanner, she put it aside on the shelf by the _Complete Farrier_; andthere Philip saw it, upside down and untouched, the next time hecame to the farm.
Many a time during that summer did he turn to the few verses inGenesis in which Jacob's twice seven years' service for Rachel isrelated, and try and take fresh heart from the reward which came tothe patriarch's constancy at last. After trying books, nosegays,small presents of pretty articles of dress, such as suited thenotions of those days, and finding them all received with the samelanguid gratitude, he set himself to endeavour to please her in someother way. It was time that he should change his tactics; for thegirl was becoming weary of the necessity for thanking him, everytime he came, for some little favour or other. She wished he wouldlet her alone and not watch her continually with such sad eyes. Herfather and mother hailed her first signs of impatient petulancetowards him as a return to the old state of things before Kinraidhad come to disturb the tenour of their lives; for even Daniel hadturned against the specksioneer, irritated by the Corneys' loudmoans over the loss of the man to whom their daughter said that shewas attached. If Daniel wished for him to be alive again, it wasmainly that the Corneys might be convinced that his last visit tothe neighbourhood of Monkshaven was for the sake of the pale andsilent Sylvia, and not for that of Bessy, who complained ofKinraid's untimely death rather as if by it she had been cheated ofa husband than for any overwhelming personal love towards thedeceased.
'If he were after her he were a big black scoundrel, that's what hewere; and a wish he were alive again to be hung. But a dunnotbelieve it; them Corney lasses were allays a-talkin' an' a-thinkingon sweethearts, and niver a man crossed t' threshold but they triedhim on as a husband. An' their mother were no better: Kinraid hasspoken civil to Bessy as became a lad to a lass, and she makes anado over him as if they'd been to church together not a week sin'.'
'I dunnot uphold t' Corneys; but Molly Corney--as is Molly Bruntonnow--used to speak on this dead man to our Sylvie as if he were hersweetheart in old days. Now there's no smoke without fire, and I'mthinking it's likely enough he were one of them fellows as is alwaysafter some lass or another, and, as often as not, two or three at atime. Now look at Philip, what a different one he is! He's niverthought on a woman but our Sylvie, I'll be bound. I wish he wern'tso old-fashioned and faint-hearted.'
'Ay! and t' shop's doin' a vast o' business, I've heard say. He's adeal better company, too, 'n or he used to be. He'd a way o'preaching wi' him as a couldn't abide; but now he tak's his glass,an' holds his tongue, leavin' room for wiser men to say their say.'
Such was a conjugal colloquy about this time. Philip was gainingground with Daniel, and that was something towards winning Sylvia'sheart; for she was unaware of her father's change of feeling towardsKinraid, and took all his tenderness towards herself as if they weremarks of his regard for her lost lover and his sympathy in her loss,instead of which he was rather feeling as if it might be a goodthing after all that the fickle-hearted sailor was dead and drowned.In fact, Daniel was very like a child in all the parts of hischaracter. He was strongly affected by whatever was present, and aptto forget the absent. He acted on impulse, and too often had reasonto be sorry for it; but he hated his sorrow too much to let it teachhim wisdom for the future. With all his many faults, however, he hadsomething in him which made him be dearly loved, both by thedaughter whom he indulged, and the wife who was in fact superior tohim, but whom he imagined that he ruled with a wise and absolutesway.
Love to Sylvia gave Philip tact. He seemed to find out that toplease the women of the household he must pay all possible attentionto the man; and though he cared little in comparison for Daniel, yetthis autumn he was continually thinking of how he could please him.When he had said or done anything to gratify or amuse her father,Sylvia smiled and was kind. Whatever he did was right with his aunt;but even she was unusually glad when her husband was pleased. Stillhis progress was slow towards his object; and often he sighedhimself to sleep with the words, 'seven years, and maybe seven yearsmore'. Then in his dreams he saw Kinraid again, sometimesstruggling, sometimes sailing towards land, the only one on board aswift advancing ship, alone on deck, stern and avenging; till Philipawoke in remorseful terror.
Such and similar dreams returned with the greater frequency when, inthe November of that year, the coast between Hartlepool andMonkshaven was overshadowed by the presence of guard-ships, drivensouth from their station at North Shields by the resolution whichthe sailors of that port had entered into to resist the press-gang,and the energy with which they had begun to carry out theirdetermination. For on a certain Tuesday evening yet remembered byold inhabitants of North Shields, the sailors in the merchantservice met together and overpowered the press-gang, dismissing themfrom the town with the highest contempt, and with their jacketsreversed. A numerous mob went with them to Chirton Bar; gave themthree cheers at parting, but vowed to tear them limb from limbshould they seek to re-enter North Shields. But a few daysafterwards some fresh cause of irritation arose, and five hundredsailors, armed with such swords and pistols as they could collect,paraded through the town in the most riotous manner, and at lastattempted to seize the tender Eleanor, on some pretext of theill-treatment of the impressed men aboard. This endeavour failed,however, owing to the energetic conduct of the officers in command.Next day this body of sailors set off for Newcastle; but learning,before they reached the town, that there was a strong military andcivil force prepared to receive them there, they dispersed for thetime; but not before the good citizens had received a great fright,the drums of the North Yorkshire militia beating to arms, and theterrified people rushing out into the streets to learn the reason ofthe alarm, and some of them seeing the militia, under the command ofthe Earl of Fauconberg, marching from the guard-house adjoining NewGate to the house of rendezvous for impressed seamen in the BroadChase.
But a few weeks after, the impressment service took their revengefor the insults they had been subjected to in North Shields. In thedead of night a cordon was formed round that town by a regimentstationed at Tynemouth barracks; the press-gangs belonging to armedvessels lying off Shields harbour were let loose; no one within thecircle could escape, and upwards of two hundred and fifty men,sailors, mechanics, labourers of every description, were forced onboard the armed ships. With that prize they set sail,
and wiselyleft the place, where deep passionate vengeance was sworn againstthem. Not all the dread of an invasion by the French could reconcilethe people of these coasts to the necessity of impressment. Fear andconfusion prevailed after this to within many miles of thesea-shore. A Yorkshire gentleman of rank said that his labourersdispersed like a covey of birds, because a press-gang was reportedto have established itself so far inland as Tadcaster; and they onlyreturned to work on the assurance from the steward of his master'sprotection, but even then begged leave to sleep on straw in thestables or outhouses belonging to their landlord, not daring tosleep at their own homes. No fish was caught, for the fishermendared not venture out to sea; the markets were deserted, as thepress-gangs might come down on any gathering of men; prices wereraised, and many were impoverished; many others ruined. For in thegreat struggle in which England was then involved, the navy wasesteemed her safeguard; and men must be had at any price of money,or suffering, or of injustice. Landsmen were kidnapped and taken toLondon; there, in too many instances, to be discharged withoutredress and penniless, because they were discovered to be uselessfor the purpose for which they had been taken.
Autumn brought back the whaling-ships. But the period of theirreturn was full of gloomy anxiety, instead of its being the annualtime of rejoicing and feasting; of gladdened households, where bravesteady husbands or sons returned; of unlimited and recklessexpenditure, and boisterous joviality among those who thought thatthey had earned unbounded licence on shore by their six months ofcompelled abstinence. In other years this had been the time for newand handsome winter clothing; for cheerful if humble hospitality;for the shopkeepers to display their gayest and best; for thepublic-houses to be crowded; for the streets to be full of bluejackets, rolling along with merry words and open hearts. In otheryears the boiling-houses had been full of active workers, thestaithes crowded with barrels, the ship-carpenters' yards throngedwith seamen and captains; now a few men, tempted by high wages, wentstealthily by back lanes to their work, clustering together, withsinister looks, glancing round corners, and fearful of everyapproaching footstep, as if they were going on some unlawfulbusiness, instead of true honest work. Most of them kept theirwhaling-knives about them ready for bloody defence if they wereattacked. The shops were almost deserted; there was no unnecessaryexpenditure by the men; they dared not venture out to buy lavishpresents for the wife or sweetheart or little children. Thepublic-houses kept scouts on the look-out; while fierce men drankand swore deep oaths of vengeance in the bar--men who did notmaunder in their cups, nor grow foolishly merry, but in whom liquorcalled forth all the desperate, bad passions of human nature.
Indeed, all along the coast of Yorkshire, it seemed as if a blighthung over the land and the people. Men dodged about their dailybusiness with hatred and suspicion in their eyes, and many a cursewent over the sea to the three fatal ships lying motionless atanchor three miles off Monkshaven. When first Philip had heard inhis shop that these three men-of-war might be seen lying fell andstill on the gray horizon, his heart sank, and he scarcely dared toask their names. For if one should be the _Alcestis_; if Kinraidshould send word to Sylvia; if he should say he was living, andloving, and faithful; if it should come to pass that the fact of theundelivered message sent by her lover through Philip should reachSylvia's ears: what would be the position of the latter, not merelyin her love--that, of course, would be hopeless--but in her esteem?All sophistry vanished; the fear of detection awakened Philip to asense of guilt; and, besides, he found out, that, in spite of allidle talk and careless slander, he could not help believing thatKinraid was in terrible earnest when he uttered those passionatewords, and entreated that they might be borne to Sylvia. Someinstinct told Philip that if the specksioneer had only flirted withtoo many, yet that for Sylvia Robson his love was true and vehement.Then Philip tried to convince himself that, from all that was saidof his previous character, Kinraid was not capable of an enduringconstant attachment; and with such poor opiate to his conscience ashe could obtain from this notion Philip was obliged to remaincontent, until, a day or two after the first intelligence of thepresence of those three ships, he learned, with some trouble andpains, that their names were the _Megoera_, the _Bellerophon_, andthe _Hanover_.
Then he began to perceive how unlikely it was that the _Alcestis_should have been lingering on this shore all these many months. Shewas, doubtless, gone far away by this time; she had, probably,joined the fleet on the war station. Who could tell what had becomeof her and her crew? she might have been in battle before now, andif so---
So his previous fancies shrank to nothing, rebuked for theirimprobability, and with them vanished his self-reproach. Yet therewere times when the popular attention seemed totally absorbed by thedread of the press-gang; when no other subject was talked about--hardly,in fact, thought about. At such flows of panic, Philip had hisown private fears lest a flash of light should come upon Sylvia,and she should suddenly see that Kinraid's absence might beaccounted for in another way besides death. But when he reasoned,this seemed unlikely. No man-of-war had been seen off the coast, or,if seen, had never been spoken about, at the time of Kinraid'sdisappearance. If he had vanished this winter time, every one wouldhave been convinced that the press-gang had seized upon him. Philiphad never heard any one breathe the dreaded name of the _Alcestis_.Besides, he went on to think, at the farm they are out of hearing ofthis one great weary subject of talk. But it was not so, as hebecame convinced one evening. His aunt caught him a little asidewhile Sylvia was in the dairy, and her husband talking in theshippen with Kester.
'For good's sake, Philip, dunnot thee bring us talk about t'press-gang. It's a thing as has got hold on my measter, till thou'dthink him possessed. He's speaking perpetual on it i' such a way,that thou'd think he were itching to kill 'em a' afore he tastedbread again. He really trembles wi' rage and passion; an' a' nightit's just as bad. He starts up i' his sleep, swearing and cursing at'em, till I'm sometimes afeard he'll mak' an end o' me by mistake.And what mun he do last night but open out on Charley Kinraid, andtell Sylvie he thought m'appen t' gang had got hold on him. It mightmake her cry a' her saut tears o'er again.'
Philip spoke, by no wish of his own, but as if compelled to speak.
'An' who knows but what it's true?'
The instant these words had come out of his lips he could havebitten his tongue off. And yet afterwards it was a sort of balm tohis conscience that he had so spoken.
'What nonsense, Philip!' said his aunt; 'why, these fearsome shipswere far out o' sight when he went away, good go wi' him, and Sylviejust getting o'er her trouble so nicely, and even my master went onfor to say if they'd getten hold on him, he were not a chap to staywi' 'em; he'd gi'en proofs on his hatred to 'em, time on. He eitherha' made off--an' then sure enough we should ha' heerd on himsomehow--them Corneys is full on him still and they've a deal to wi'his folk beyond Newcassel--or, as my master says, he were just t'chap to hang or drown hissel, sooner nor do aught against his will.'
'What did Sylvie say?' asked Philip, in a hoarse low voice.
'Say? why, a' she could say was to burst out crying, and after abit, she just repeated her feyther's words, and said anyhow he wasdead, for he'd niver live to go to sea wi' a press-gang. She knowedhim too well for that. Thou sees she thinks a deal on him for aspirited chap, as can do what he will. I belie' me she first beganto think on him time o' t' fight aboard th' _Good Fortune_, whenDarley were killed, and he would seem tame-like to her if hecouldn't conquer press-gangs, and men-o'-war. She's sooner think onhim drowned, as she's ne'er to see him again.'
'It's best so,' said Philip, and then, to calm his unusually excitedaunt, he promised to avoid the subject of the press-gang as much aspossible.
But it was a promise very difficult of performance, for DanielRobson was, as his wife said, like one possessed. He could hardlythink of anything else, though he himself was occasionally weary ofthe same constantly recurring idea, and would fain have banished itfrom his mind. He was too old a man to be likely to
be taken bythem; he had no son to become their victim; but the terror of them,which he had braved and defied in his youth, seemed to come back andtake possession of him in his age; and with the terror cameimpatient hatred. Since his wife's illness the previous winter hehad been a more sober man until now. He was never exactly drunk, forhe had a strong, well-seasoned head; but the craving to hear thelast news of the actions of the press-gang drew him into Monkshavennearly every day at this dead agricultural season of the year; and apublic-house is generally the focus from which gossip radiates; andprobably the amount of drink thus consumed weakened Robson's powerover his mind, and caused the concentration of thought on onesubject. This may be a physiological explanation of what afterwardswas spoken of as a supernatural kind of possession, leading him tohis doom.