Dead Mans Rock | Page 4

spiders that my recollections begin, for of my father, before he
sailed away, remembrance is dim and scanty, being confined to the
picture of a tall fair man, with huge shoulders and wonderful grey eyes,
that changed in a moment from the stern look he must have inherited
from Amos to an extraordinary depth of love and sympathy. Also I
have some faint memories of a pig, named Eleazar (for no
well-explained reason), which fell over the cliff one night and awoke
the household with its cries. But this I mention only because it
happened, as I learn, before my father's going, and not for any
connection with my story. We must have lived a very quiet life at
Lantrig, even as lives go on our Western coast. I remember my mother
now as she went softly about the house contriving and scheming to
make the two ends of our small possessions meet. She was a woman
who always walked softly, and, indeed, talked so, with a low musical
voice such as I shall never hear again, nor can ever hope to. But I
remember her best in church, as she knelt and prayed for her absent
husband, and also in the meeting-house, which she sometimes attended,
more to please Aunt Elizabeth than for any good it did her. For the
religion there was too sombre for her quiet sorrow; and often I have
seen a look of awful terror possess her eyes when the young minister

gave out the hymn and the fervid congregation wailed forth--
"In midst of life we are in death. Oh! stretch Thine arm to save. Amid
the storm's tumultuous breath And roaring of the wave."
Which, among a fishing population, was considered a particularly
appropriate hymn; and, truly, to hear the unction with which the word
"tu-mult-u-ous" was rendered, with all strength of lung and rolling of
syllables, was moving enough. But my mother would grow all white
and trembling, and clutch my hand sometimes, as though to save
herself from shipwreck; whilst I too often would be taken with the
passion of the chant, and join lustily in the shouting, only half
comprehending her mortal anguish. It was this, perhaps, and many
another such scene, which drew upon me her gentle reproof for
pointing one day to the text above the pulpit and repeating, "How
dreadful is this place!" But that was after I had learned to spell.
It had always been my father's wish that I should grow up "a scholar,"
which, in those days, meant amongst us one who could read and write
with no more than ordinary difficulty. So one of my mother's chief
cares was to teach me my letters, which I learnt from big A to
"Ampusand" in the old hornbook at Lantrig. I have that hornbook
still:--
"Covered with pellucid horn, To save from fingers wet the letters fair."
The horn, alas! is no longer pellucid, but dim, as if with the tears of the
many generations that have struggled through the alphabet and the first
ten numerals and reached in due course the haven of the Lord's Prayer
and Doxology. I had passed the Doxology, and was already deep in the
"Pilgrim's Progress" and the "Holy War" (which latter book, with the
rude taste of childhood, I greatly preferred, so that I quickly knew the
mottoes and standards of its bewildering hosts by heart), when my
father's first letter came home. In those days, before the great canal was
cut, a voyage to the East Indies was no light matter, lying as it did
around the treacherous Cape and through seas where a ship may lie
becalmed for weeks. So it was little wonder that my father's letter,
written from Bombay, was some time on its way. Still, when the news

came it was good. He had seen Mr. Elihu Sanderson, son of the Elihu
mentioned in my grandfather's Will, had presented his parchment and
Testament, and received some notes (most of which he sent home),
together with a sealed packet, directed in Amos Trenoweth's
handwriting: "To the Son of my House, who, having Counted all the
Perils, is Resolute." This packet, my father went on to say, contained
much mysterious matter, which would keep until he and his dear wife
met. He added that, for himself, he could divine no peril, nor any cause
for his dear wife to trouble, seeing that he had but to go to the island of
Ceylon, whence, having accomplished the commands contained in the
packet, he purposed to take ship and return with all speed to England.
This was the substance of the letter, wrapped around with many
endearing words, and much tender solicitude for Margery and the little
one, as that he hoped Jasper was tackling his letters like a