Menhardoc

George Manville Fenn (continued 7)

Reading edition

Will came round from the back just then, with his head hanging, and a look of dejection in his whole aspect; but as he caught sight of Uncle Abram and Dick he made an effort to hide his trouble.

“Here he is,” said the old gentleman, clapping Will on the shoulder, “here he is, Master Dick, my nevvy, and as stout and strong a lad of his years as there is in these parts. Your par wants him, does he?”

“My father wants him,” said Dick sturdily. “I never call him pa.”

“That’s right, my lad. I never called my father pa. Wants our Will, do he? Well, I was going to send him down to get the boat ready. Go and see what Master Temple wants, my lad. ’Member what I said, Master Dick, sir.”

“All right!” replied Dick; and Will followed him to the door.

“What has my uncle been saying?” he said quickly.

“Oh! only that I wasn’t to notice what your aunt said, and that she don’t mean all that scolding.”

Will drew a long breath, and leaning his arm against the door-post he placed his forehead against it.

“I can’t bear it,” he groaned; “I can’t bear it. I seem to be so poor and dependent, and she is always telling me that I am a beggar and an expense to them. Master Dick, I’d have gone years ago, only it would half break poor old uncle’s heart. He is fond of me, I know.”

“Oh! I say, Will, don’t—please don’t!” cried Dick.

“It hurts me, it does indeed. Oh, how I wish I could do something to help you! I tell you what I’ll do, and Taff shall help me. I’ll save up to help you buy a boat of your own.”

“Thank you,” said Will gently; “but you must not think of that. No, Master Dick.”

“There; don’t call me Master Dick; say Dick. I want you to be friends with me, Will. It’s all nonsense about you only being a fisher lad. My father said only yesterday to Taff that he should have been very proud to have called you his son.”

“Oh!” cried Will, with a deprecatory movement of his hand.

“He did; and that you had the spirit of a true gentleman in your breast. I say, Will Marion,” cried Dick, giving him a playful kick, “what a fellow you are! I’m as jealous of you as Taff is.”

“Nonsense!” cried Will; “and don’t you be so hard on him. Do you know what he did yesterday?”

“Made some disagreeable remark,” said Dick bitterly.

“He came up to me when I was alone and shook hands with me, and said he was very sorry that he had been so stuck-up and rude to me as he had been sometimes, and said it was all his ignorance, but he hoped he knew better now.”

“Taff did? Taff came and said that to you?” cried Dick excitedly.

“Yes; and we parted the best of friends.”

“There’s a chap for you!” cried Dick warmly. “There’s a brick! I say Taff is a fine fellow after all, only he got made so stuck-up and tall-hat and Eton jacketty at one school he went to. But, I say, my father wants you. Come along.”

Dick led the way into the parlour, where the object of their conversation was sitting by the window reading, and Mr Temple busy over some papers.

“Here’s Will, father,” said Dick.

“I’ll attend to him in a moment,” said Mr Temple. “Let me finish this letter.”

Will stood in the middle of the room in his shabby, well-worn canvas trousers and coarse jersey, his straw hat hanging at full arm’s-length by his side, and his clear grey eyes, after a glance at Arthur, fixed almost hungrily upon the specimens of ore and minerals that encumbered the table and window-sill wherever there was a place where a block could be laid.

The sight of these brought up many a hunt that he had had amongst the old mines and rifts and chasms of the rocks round about the shore, and made him long once more to steal away for a few hours in search of some vein that would give him a chance of making himself independent and working his own way in the world.

Dick broke his train of thought by coming behind him and placing a chair for him, but he declined.

“I wish I had thought to do that!” said Arthur to himself. “I never think of those little things.”

“That’s done,” said Mr Temple sharply as he fastened down a large blue envelope and swung round to face Will. “Sit down, my lad,” he said quickly.

Will hesitated, and then sat down, wondering what was coming; and so accustomed was he to being taken to task that he began to run over in his mind what he had done lately likely to have displeased Mr Temple. He came to the conclusion at last that he had been encouraging the two lads too much to go out fishing, and that their father was annoyed with them for making a companion of so common a lad.

Mr Temple gazed straight at him in silence for a few moments, and Will met his gaze frankly and well.

“Let me see, my lad,” said Mr Temple at last. “You are quite dependent on Mr and Mrs Marion?”

“Yes, sir,” said Will with an ill-suppressed sigh.

“And your parents are both dead?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You have no other relatives?”

“No, sir;” and Will looked wonderingly at the speaker, who now ceased, and sat nursing one leg over the other.

“Should you like to be master of a boat of your own?”

“Ye–es, sir,” said Will slowly.

“You are very fond of the sea?”

“I like the sea, sir.”

“And would like to grow up and be a fisherman?”

Will shook his head.

“I don’t want to despise the fishermen, sir,” said Will; “but I should choose to be a miner and have to do with mines if I could do as I liked.”

“And go down into a deep hole and use a pick all your life, eh?”

“No,” replied Will; “I should try to rise above doing that. Most of our miners here work with their arms, and they seem to do that always; but here and there one of them works with his head as well, and he gets to be captain of a mine, or an adventurer.”

“Ah!” said Mr Temple sternly. “Why, what an idle, discontented dog you must be, sir! I don’t wonder at your aunt scolding you so that all the people in the village can hear. Why don’t you attend to your work as a fisher lad, and be content with your position?”

“I do attend to my work, sir,” said Will firmly; “but I can’t feel content with my station.”

“Why not, sir? Why, you are well fed and clothed; and if you wait long enough you will perhaps succeed to your uncle’s property when he dies, and have a boat or two and a set of nets of your own.”

Will flushed up and rose from his chair.

“You have no business to speak to me, sir, like that,” he said warmly; “and I am not so mean and contemptible as to be looking forward to getting my poor old uncle’s property when he dies.”

“Well done, Will!” cried Dick enthusiastically.

“Silence, sir!” cried Mr Temple sternly. “How dare you speak like that! And so, sir, you are so unselfish as to wish to be quite independent, and to wish to get your living yourself free of everybody?”

“Yes, sir,” said Will coldly; and he felt that Mr Temple was the most unpleasant, sneering man he had ever seen, and not a bit like Dick.

“Like to discover a copper mine with an abundance of easily got ore?”

“Yes, sir,” said Will quickly. “I should, very much.”

“I suppose you would,” said Mr Temple. “Are you going to do it?”

“I’m afraid not, sir,” said Will respectfully; but he was longing for the interview to come to an end. “The place has been too well searched over, sir.”

“Try tin, then,” said Mr Temple.

“The tin has been all well searched for, sir, I’m afraid,” said Will quietly, though he felt that he was being bantered, and that there was a sneer in the voice that galled him almost more than he could bear.

“Why not look then for something else?” continued Mr Temple. “That is what I’d do.”

“Because,” said Will, “I am not learned enough, sir, to understand such things properly. If I had books I should read and try to learn; but I have very little time, and no learning.”

“And yet,” said Mr Temple, speaking warmly now and quite changing his tone, “you without your learning have done more than I have with all my years of study and experience.”

“I don’t understand you, sir.”

“I’ll tell you then. I have been far and wide about Cornwall for these last three years and done no good this year I thought I would have another search for something fresh, and give my boys a change. I am glad I have come.”

Will did not reply, but looked at him more wonderingly than ever.

“Suppose, my lad,” said Mr Temple, speaking now kindly, “I were to tell you that I have watched you very narrowly for some time past.”

“I hope I have done nothing wrong, sir?” said Will.

“Nothing, my lad. I was beginning to form a very pleasant impression of you, and then came the day of the storm.”

“If—if you would not mind, sir,” said Will uneasily, “I would rather you did not talk about that.”

“I will only say, my lad, that it confirmed my agreeable impressions about you. And now, look here, I have paid at least a hundred visits to the vein you showed me—the decomposing felspar vein.”

“The vein of white spar, sir?” cried Will.

“Yes, my lad; and I have concluded that it is very valuable.”

“Valuable, sir?”

“Yes, far more so than many of the best of the copper and tin mines here.”

“I am glad,” cried Will.

“Why?” said Mr Temple sharply. “Can you buy the land that contains it?”

Will shook his head.

“Can you get up a company to buy and work it?”

“No, sir,” said Will sadly. “I should not understand how to do that, and—”

“Some one else would get hold of it, and you would not benefit in the least.”

“No, sir, not in the least,” said Will sadly. “I am a fisher lad. That is my business.”

“But you discovered the vein,” said Mr Temple.

“Yes, sir, I found it when I was hunting about as I have done these two years.”

“Then don’t you think you have a right to some of the profit from such a vein?”

“I don’t know, sir. Of course I should like to have some of it, sir, but I don’t see how I could expect it.”

“Then I do,” said Mr Temple. “Look here, my lad, I will tell you something. I have purchased the whole of the land that contains that vein.”

“You’ve bought it, father?” cried Dick. “Oh, I am glad!”

“Why?” said his father sharply.

“Because we shall come here to live.”

“Oh!” said Mr Temple. “Now look here, Marion. You showed me what I hope will prove very valuable to me, and I don’t want to be ungrateful in return. Now what should you say if I spent a hundred pounds in a boat expressly for you, and after we had called it The White Spar, I presented it to you?”

“I should say it was very generous of you, sir.”

“And it would make you very happy, my lad?”

“No, sir,” said Will sadly, “I don’t think it would.”

“Then suppose I spent two hundred and fifty pounds in a boat and nets. Come, that ought to set you up for life.” Will was silent.

“You like that idea?” The lad shook his head.

“Then look here, Marion,” said Mr Temple. “Suppose I say to you, I am going to open out and work that vein at once, will you come and help me, and I’ll give you five shillings a week?”

“Yes, sir, I’ll come,” cried Will, with his eyes sparkling; “I’ll work so hard for you, I will indeed.”

“I know you will, my lad,” said Mr Temple, shaking hands with him warmly.

“And you will take me, sir?” said Will excitedly.

“Certainly I will, but not on such terms as that. My good lad, there is honesty in the world, though sometimes it is rather hard to find. Look here. You helped me to the discovery, but it was useless without capital. I found the capital, and so I consider that I and mine have a right to the lion’s share. I have worked out my plans, and they are these. We will divide the adventure into four parts, which shall be divided as follows, one part to you, and one each to me and my sons. The only difference will be that you will get your part, and I shall keep Arthur’s and Dick’s along with mine. Do you think that fair?”

“No!” cried Dick, giving the table a thump with his fist.

“Till my boys come of age and are men,” said Mr Temple smiling. “Then they can draw their shares. I think it is a fair arrangement. Come, Marion, what do you say?”

“I don’t know what to say, sir,” cried the lad, whose lip was working with emotion. “You are not playing with me?”

“Playing, my lad! I never was in more sober earnest in my life,” said Mr Temple. “There, I see you agree, and I congratulate you on your success, for it will be a most successful venture—of that I am sure.”

“So do I, Will,” cried Dick, with his eyes sparkling. “I am glad. Hooray!”

Arthur hesitated. For the last few minutes a feeling of resentment and jealousy had been rising in his breast at the idea of this fisher lad winning to such a successful position and being placed on a level with him and his brother; but he crushed the feeling down, triumphed over it, came forward holding out his hand, and offered his congratulations too. “I am glad, Will Marion,” he said, and his words were true and earnest; but in spite of himself the thought would come, “I hope he won’t always dress like that.”

“Then that matter’s settled,” said Mr Temple. “Everything necessary has been done. The land is mine, and my solicitor has all the papers. Mr Will Marion, I too congratulate you on being a mine owner and on the road to fortune.”

“But look here, father,” cried Dick suddenly, “what’s the good of your white stone? You can’t make tin pots and copper kettles of it.”

“No,” said Mr Temple smiling; “but don’t you know what that stone and the clay beneath it will make?”

“Yes,” cried Dick, “of course. Houses of brick made of the clay with white stone facings.”

“What do you say, Arthur?” said Mr Temple; but Arthur shook his head.

“Can you tell, Marion?” said Mr Temple.

“No, sir,” said Will sadly; “I don’t—Yes, I do. It’s china-clay.”

“Right, my lad. A valuable deposit of china-clay, which we can send off after preparation to the potteries—perhaps start a pottery ourselves, who knows? Yes, it was about the last thing I thought of when I came down. My idea was to get hold of a vein of some little-worked metal, antimony, or nickel, or plumbago perhaps; but I have never found anything to equal this, and I thank you, Will Marion, from my very heart.”

Will Marion looked from one to the other as if stunned by the tremendous nature—to him—of the intelligence; then, unable to contain himself, he rushed out of the room to see old Uncle Abram.

“Well, Dick, what do you think of it?” said Mr Temple as soon as they were alone.

“Think, father? Why, I was never so pleased before in my life—at least I don’t think I was. Poor old Will! how pleased he is!”

There was not time to say much more, for there was a sharp tap at the door, and Uncle Abram came in to have the matter explained.

“For you see, sir, I can’t make neither head nor tail of Will here. Seems to me as if he’s been dreaming.”

Then after it had all been explained the old man took three or four pulls at an imaginary pipe.

“It’s like being took all aback,” he said, rubbing his grey head. “I can’t understand it like quite. I knew he was always off hunting something, butterflies, or fishing up on the moor, but I didn’t think it would turn out like that, sir. And I was always making a fender of myself ’twixt his aunt and him because she was wanting to know where he was, and me pretending he was painting the bottom of the boat and mending nets or something. Well, I’ve been terrible sorry sometimes at his being away so much; but I feel right down pleased, sir, and—and if you wouldn’t mind shaking hands, sir, it would do me a power of good.”

Uncle Abram shook hands then with Mr Temple, and then with Dick and Arthur, and next with Will, after which he stared at all in turn, and ended by saying as he went out:

“It’s ’most more than I can understand after all.”

Chapter Thirty Four.

Winding up with a Dab of Clay.

To enter into the occurrences of the next few years would be to give the business career of young men, when the object of this book was to tell of some of the pleasant adventurous days passed by three boys and their friends in that beautiful rugged county in the far west of England which the sea wraps so warmly that winter is shorn of half his force.

It is only right to tell, though, that Mrs Marion, upon being taught by Mr Temple’s treatment of her nephew that the boy was what some would call a lad of parts, suddenly began to display a deep interest in him—in his clothes—in his linen; and Uncle Abram found her one day scolding poor Amanda the maid till she put her apron over her head and sat down on the floor and cried.

Uncle Abram stood smoking his pipe and sending puffs here and there as Aunt Marion’s tirade of bitterness went on.

“What’s matter?” he said at last.

“Matter!” cried the old lady fiercely. “Matter enough. Here’s this thoughtless, careless hussy actually been throwing away some specimens of ore that Will brought in. I declare it’s monstrous—that it is.”

Uncle Abram nodded solemnly, sent a puff of smoke to east, another to west, and another due south, and then went out into his garden to tie up an Ayrshire rose that had been blown down by a late gale.

“Wind’s changed,” he said to himself, “dead astarn; and our boy’s v’y’ge through life will be an easy one now.”

Uncle Abram was right, for Mr Temple began to make quite a confidant of Will Marion at once, and depended greatly upon him for help in his business transactions over the kaolin and felspar upon his land.

Dick said it was a jolly shame, and Arthur considered it to be a nuisance; but Mr Temple told them it was for their benefit, and to make them more useful to him in time to come, so they had to go to a great school for the next two years, at the end of which time the kaolin works were in full swing, and Mr Temple, as he never forgot to say, thanks to Will Marion, on the high road to fortune.

For while this tin mine proved a failure, and that copper mine had paid no dividend for years, while the fisheries were sometimes successful, sometimes, through storms and loss of gear, carried on at a loss, Mr Temple’s kaolin works became yearly more profitable, the vein growing thicker and finer in quality the more it was opened out.

Kaolin—of course you all know what that Chinese word means. Eh? What? A little boy at the back says he doesn’t know? Then we must enlighten him, and be a little learned for a minute or two.

Earthenware is of course ware made of earth that was ground into a paste, and after working into shape, baked or burned hard in a kiln. The roughest earthenware is a brick, the red brick of simple clay, the yellow and white bricks of simple clay mixed with more or less chalk. Then we get the flower-pot, again of clay; the common pan, which is glazed by covering the interior with properly prepared minerals, which melt in the baking, and turn into a glaze or glass. Then we have finer clay worked up into crockery; and lastly, the beautiful white clay which, when baked, becomes transparent,—a Chinese discovery, and to this day it bears its name, “china.”

This fine white clay the Chinese call kaolin, and it is to the discovery of veins of the soft white plastic material in England that the wonderful strides in our china manufactures are due.

And what is this kaolin of which Will had discovered so grand a store? Well, it is easily explained. The rocks of Cornwall are largely of granite, a stone that must be familiar to every one. It is formed of grains of quartz, mica the shiny, and felspar, that soft white creamy stone like our old alley marbles. This vein of granite will be close and hard, and contain a vast preponderance of quartz, the flinty; and that vein of granite will be very soft from containing so much felspar; and this granite, a familiar example of which can be seen in the material of Waterloo Bridge, the learned, who give names, call porphyry.

Such granite as this abounds in Cornwall, and some, too, which is nearly all felspar, and such rock as this in the course of ages forms such a bed of kaolin as Will Marion disclosed to the father of his friends.

For the felspar is soft, and imbibes water; and in the course of time the water causes it to break up, decay, and change from stone to a soft white clay, while where it is hard, burning and pounding will do the work that nature has not quite finished yet.

Mr Temple did not go so far as to commence a pottery, for there was no need, the manufacturers being ready to purchase all the clay that the works could produce; and when Dick and Arthur Temple finally settled down to business, it was to find Will Marion their father’s right-hand man.

Later on some further investigations were made of the mineral deposits in the seals’ cave; but, good as they were, Will Marion shook his head at them, and Mr Temple took his view. The tin looked promising; but tin and copper mining was so speculative a venture that it was determined to keep only to the china-clay, which brought prosperity to all.

The lads often visited the haunts of their old adventures in company with Josh, who was still venerable Uncle Abram’s head man; and it was only necessary to hint at the desire for an evening’s fishing to make Josh declare, that as long as there was a gashly boat in the bay, they should never want for a bit of fishing.

But Josh never forgave Will in his heart for deserting the fishing business.

“Oh, yes! I know all about the gashly old clay, Master Rickard, sir,” he would say; “and it’s made him a sort of gentleman like; but I can’t seem to see it, you know. He was getting to be as fine a sailor as ever stepped, and look at him now; why, he wouldn’t be satisfied to sail anything commoner than a yacht.”

Dick remained the same frank merry fellow as ever; and even when there was a thick crop growing on his cheeks and chin, which he called brown mustard and cress, he was as full of boyish fun as ever.

It was Arthur in whom the greatest changes had taken place. Contact with the world had rubbed off the stiff varnish with which he had coated himself. He had learned, too, that a lad can command more respect from his fellows by treating them with frankness than by a hectoring haw-haw display of consequence, and a metaphorical “going about with a placard on the breast saying what a superior young being I am ism.” In fact Arthur Temple’s folly had all gone, and he had developed into a true English gentleman, who could be refined to a degree, but in time of need lend a hand in any of the many struggles of life.

Will, too, refined greatly, and one of the Sunday sights down at Peter Churchtown was to see Aunt Ruth Marion waiting at her door, while the bells were going, for Will to come and take her to church, while Uncle Abram in his best blue coat, with crown-and-anchor buttons, smoked his pipe to the last minute and then trotted after them along the cliff path to the pew close under the reading-desk.

“Yes, Abram,” she used to say, “our Will has grown to be as fine a gentleman as ever stepped; but you always spoiled him, you did; and I don’t know what he would have done if it had not been for me.”

The End.