The history of the early years of the nineteenth century is writ in strife and misery. That Corsican despot who had destroyed so many kings and empires now held Europe in the hollow of his hand; while his military brilliancy fascinated and paralysed its people. It was in the days of our own equally pitiless Press Gang.
At the time, and in the little fishing village of which I write, the sun had not been long risen, and was flooding the calm surface of the sea with sparkling jewels of silver. So poetic; it felt just awake and dreaming with the joy of solitude. Occasionally a sea-gull would just leisurely skim its unbroken surface.
A row of whitewashed cottages stood on the cliff's brow and gazed seawards across the little bay.
It was all so quiet, and breathed the spirit of peace, and with the sun streaming in at her window, Miriam Telford had risen to attend to her household duties, and the weekly washing, in snowy whiteness lay spread out on the sloping bank side.
A young fisher-maiden in the bloom of her womanhood, and which imagination might easily bow down and worship as a Northern goddess. A typical Saxon, with the blood of the Vikings still surging through her veins. The only other life astir was a grey Amazon Parrot in a cage, and an old brown retriever dog.
Nothing else stirred, so still it all was that the cry, “Ha! ha! ha!” seemed to disturb it but little as its echoes died away amongst the cliffs and rocks; then silence. A delicious silence, and to mortal ear a silence and beauty that no words could describe. Then the voice began again. “Ha! ha! ha!” the very incarnation of joy and devilry then stopped and began again, “Ha! ha! ha! Merrily danced the Quaker's wife, merrily danced the Quaker.” There was silence again, but not for long; the morning air was evidently too infections.
“Rover, Rover (she was calling to the dog). “Rover, Cats, set the cats off!” followed by a raucous “Ha! ha! ha!” as if the joke was too irresistibly funny, and that the wonder and joy of life were beyond all understanding.
“Polly, will you make less noise?” was Miriam's remark, and turning round, she became aware of a man running towards her, yet painfully, as if scarcely able to drag one foot in front of the other. Every action showed him in terror of being over-taken, as he kept looking from side to side, like a hunted fox, for any cover that might conceal him.
Instinctively, with all the keenness of a woman's intuition, Miriam guessed the cause, and her heart was filled with pity.
“For God's sake,” pleaded the panting fugitive, as he came up to her, “take pity on me; don't give me away; quick, for the love of mercy, hide me, hide me anywhere; the Press Gang are after me!”
It had all happened so suddenly, a bolt out of the blue, but without questioning in any way, and hardly without stopping from her work, like lightning the thought flashed across her mind, “Jump up and get into that rain-barrel.”
At that time the villages, but mostly the young women, who then, as now, dearly loved a little gossip in the process, carried all their drinking water in skiels from a drift that trickled through the bank-side; while for other purposes each cottage boasted a large barrel, which received the rain water, and generally stood raised on a wooden gantry about two feet from the ground.
There had been a long spell of dry weather, indeed could you have heard the remarks of the villagers, they would have been: “That is was as fine a June as ever cum oot the Hivens,” and “Scorching het,” “An aad fashioned mawky June,” that even the very tar had blistered more seriously than usual. So hot had it been that there was little water in the barrels, and it was the work of a few seconds for the fugitive, nimble as any cat, to jump upon the low window sill beside which it stood, lift off the lid and climb inside. It was all so rapid that even Miriam might have wondered if it were not an hallucination. Nothing seemed to stir, nothing awoke the calm, but the voice of Polly with a “Ha, ha, ha” as if it were all a splendid joke.
Scarcely had he time to conceal himself when the ominous pattering of heavy feet came racing past, and as suddenly stopped.
“Good morning, Miss. Have you seen a seaman run past?”
Miriam pretended not to hear, although out of the corner of her eye, very well she knew the small party of seamen were the Press Gang, and the person who had addressed her, the officer in charge.
“I must commend your industry,” said he, “more especially when coupled with such charm and beauty. There are few who would be astir so early.”
Then in the most graceful and gallant of manners, which bespoke the gentleman, stood to attention and saluted.
Miriam slowly looked at the officer. “Oh aye,” said she, “compliments are fleeing aboot very cheep this morning.” Though, nevertheless, such things as the officer very well knew when rightly applied are not distasteful. “An' de ye see ony green i'me eye?”
“No,” said the officer, pretending to look more closely. “Not a vestige; that colour must have entirely faded; but,” and he saluted again, “I do see the colour of a beautiful red rose.”
“Humph!” said Miriam, “There's evidently nowt the matter wi' yor eyeseet, onyway' but ye'll hev to get up a little bit earlier still if ye want to pluck this rose off its stem.”
Both officer and men, in despite of themselves, had to laugh outright.
“But my good woman,” was the officer's comment, doubtful of his ability to carry this wordy cross-sword-play further, and anxious to change the subject, “We are in search of a seaman. Did you see any pas this way?”
“Why,” said Miriam, as if the matter was of no importance, “now ye cum to speak on't, aa did see a man run past.” “Aa fund this,” she added, as she held up a seaman's cap.
“That's our man,” said the officer, critically examining it. “Which way did he go?”
Miriam pointed to an outlying ridge of rocks. “He went just roond yon point.”
“Come along, boys!” said the officer, curbing his impatience, and away they ran at the double on to the beach, and Miriam saw them searching diligently amongst the rocks.
But evidently a thought had struck them. What if they had been tricked? Was the simple fisher maiden so very simple? Soon they returned, and with the most delightfully simulated innocence, hopelessly beyond the reach of mere man, Miriam enquired: “An' hev ye not been able to find yor man?” It had probably never occurred to her that in trying to outwit the law, and that for an entire stranger, she was greatly imperilling her own safety.
“Have we found our man?” was the gruff reply of the officer. “You know better than that. It was altogether so very clever of you sending us off on a wild-goose chase. We more than suspect he is hiding here, and perhaps you are not aware of the consequences if we should find him. The law compels me, and we will have to search the house.”
“Vary weel,” was Miriam's calm reply, which was anything in keeping with the agitated working of her mind. “Search by aal means, an' gud luck to ye. Wilful men mun hev their way.”
Perspiration in huge beads was standing on the forehead of the poor fugitive; every move in the game could he distinctly hear. His one thought, while his heart kept playing the Devil's Tattoo, was to leap out and make a bolt for it, but before he could make up his mind to do so, the seamen came scrambling out.
“He might be in Hell for what we know,” he heard the officer remark, “but he's certainly not in there. Now for the outside!” The first thing that caught his attention was the barrel, and his eyes and mouth slowly opened in wide astonishment and slapping the side of his thigh, gave vent to a low whistle.
“Boys!” said he, “we must be a set of dunder-heads; fancy not seeing that!” And he danced a Highland Fling, finishing up with a hearty laugh.
“And so, my charming young lady,” taking off his hat with a sweep in the air, and almost bowing to the ground in mock gallantry, “your scheming has all come to naught. We are not so green after all, and if we couldn't pluck the rose, we are quite early enough” –and he pointed to the barrel- “to pluck the thorn!”
Miriam made no reply, only Polly thought fit to do so with a shrill, “Ha! ha! ha!”
“Tar barrel, indeed,” continued the officer, with mocking banter, “Who knows, boys? Perhaps it contains beer?” and he again laughed heartily, as being in great good humour, at the subtlety of his own joke. “But, really, my dear, thanks to you, in climbing among the rocks we acquired a devilish thirst, and can more than do it full justice. Perhaps it's home brew? boys,” said he again, “do you think we shall cavil at that?” And the smiles on the seamen's faces expanding broadways with an accompanying flicker of the left eye, bespoke the eloquence of thirst, and perfect unanimity.
“And what has our charming hostess to say about it?” he continued.
“Really, gentlemen,” said Miriam, and in imitation of the officer, making a mock curtsey worthy of the highest lady in the land, “This exhilarating morning air is very infection.” And out flowed a rippling, and silvery peal of laughter, and so infectious was it that the seamen all heartily joined in. One might have thought that the tragedy being acted in reality, was nothing but a highly diverting comedy, so closely do laughter and tears lie together.
“How ungallant of you! And seamen, of all men, to mock and mistrust a poor fisher maiden; but, really, I don't think you mean to… And, so, you would like a draught of our home brewed ale? And so you shall. I only hope the taste may come up to your expectations and trust that your gentlemanly thirst will be able to do it full justice!” I am just afraid, however, it will be a little flat, and insipid. You see it's been standing quite a long time. However, as my self-invited guests, you are quite at liberty to drink the barrel dry if you so wish it.”
“Jones,” said the officer, and with his knuckles he tapped the barrel, “Humph!” he muttered, “it sounds rather empty. Jones! Climb up onto that barrel and see the quality of the brew inside.”
Miriam quietly stepped forward: “Gentlemen, allow me first to do the honours of a hostess,” and suiting the action to the word went to the barrel and slowly drew off a pail of rainwater. “Ha! Ha! Ha!”
It was one of those moments in the life of us all, common enough, the game of Chance, but which the metaphysical and the high-brow in occult science would think too common unless stated in the most high sounding and euphonious of words.
“Humph!” said the officer again, breaking into a laugh, in which the assembled company all joined. “So he's evidently not in there, either!”
And after the mirth had somewhat subsided, he addressed the men.
“Boys! Fall in! Attention!” And the men smartly obeyed.