Chapter XI

OF A WESLEYAN MINISTER THAT WOULD IMPROVE UPON NATURE, AND THEREBY TRAINED A ROOK TO GOOD PRINCIPLES.

"Well, sir, et all happen'd when I lived up to Penhellick, an' worked long wi' Varmer Mennear. Ould Lawyer Mennear, as he was a-nicknamed—a little cribbage-faced man, wi' a dandy-go-russet wig, an' on'y wan eye: leastways, he hadn' but wan fust along when I knowed 'n. That's what the yarn's about, tho'; so us'll go slow, ef you plaise, an' hush a bit, as Mary Beswetherick said to th' ingine-driver.

"Now, Lawyer Mennear was a circuit-preacher, o' the Wesleyan Methody persuash'n, tho' he'd a-got to cross-pupposes wi' the rest o' the brethren an' runned a sect all to hissel', which he called th' United Free Church o' 'Rig'nal Seceders. They was called 'Rig'nal Seceders for short, an' th' ould man had a toler'ble dacent followin', bein' a fust-class mover o' souls an' powerful hot agen th' unregenrit, which didn' prevent hes bein' a miserable ould varmint, an' so deep as Garrick in hes ord'nary dealin's. Aw, he was a reg'lar split-fig, an' 'ud go where the devil can't, an' that's atween the oak an' the rind."

"I see," said Mr. Fogo.

"Well, sir, I worked like a Trojan, an' ha'f killed they jackasses; an' I tell 'ee 'twas busy all to carry dree-an'-twenty seam. In the eveling, arter work, I went to Lawyer Mennear an' axed 'n 'bout the nine-pence—I niver got ninepence so hard in all my born days. When he paid me, he looked so sly, an' says he—

"' You'm a nation clever boy, you be, an' I doan't gridge 'ee the money. But now I sees what you can do, of cou'se I shall 'spect 'ee to carry dree-an'-twenty seam ivery day, reg'lar: for the workman,' says he, 'es worthy of hes hire.'

"'Darn et!' thought I to mysel', 'this won't do;' an' I niver seed azackly the beef an' pudden th' ould man talked about. Hows'ever, I stayed wi' the psalmas-'untin' ould cadger, tho' et made me 'most 'mazed at times to hear the way he'd carry on down at the Meetin' House 'bout the sen o' greed an' the like, an' all the time lookin' round to see who owed 'n a happeny. 'My brethren,' he'd call out, 'my pore senful flock, ef you clings to your flocks an' herds, an' tents an' dyed apparel, like onto Korah shall you be, an' like onto Dathan an' Abiram, so sure as I be sole agent for Carnaby's Bone Manure in this 'ere destrict.' 'Tes true, sir. An' then he'd rap out the hemn, 'Common metre, my brethren, an' Sister Tresidder'll gie the pitch—"

'Whativer, Lord, us lends to Thee Repaid a thousan'fold'll be, Then gladly will us gie to Thee.'

"An' I reckon that was 'bout the size o't. Aw, he was an anointed ould rascal.

"All the same, Lawyer Mennear was reckon'd a powerful wrastler en the sperrit by the rest o' the Church-Membership; on'y there was wan thing as went agen 'un, an' that was he hadn' but wan eye; tho' Maria Chirgwin, as was known to have had experience, an' was brought under conviction by th' ould man, told me that et made 'n luk the more terrifyin'—"

"Like Polyphemus," put in Mr. Fogo.

"Polly which?"

"Never mind."

"I disknowledged the surname. But niver mind, as you say, sir; feelin's es feelin's, an' th' ould Mennear's wan eye went mortal agen 'un. Not but what he wudn' turn et to account now an' then. 'Tummas doubted,' he said wan day, 'an' how was he convenced? Why, by oracular demonstrashun—'"

"Ocular, Caleb."

"Right you are, sir, an' thankye for the correcshun, as the boy said to the pupil-teacher; 'by oc-u-lar demonstrashun,' says he. 'P'raps you dunno what ocular demonstrashun es, my brethren. Well, I'll tell 'ee. That's a wall, ain't et? An' I'm a preacher, arn't I? An' you be worms, bain't 'ee? Why, I can see that much tho' I han't but wan eye. An' that's ocular demonstrashun.'

"But, as I was sayin', wan eye es a wisht business, howsomever you may turn et up'ards an' call et your thorn i' the flesh, an' the likes; an' more'n a few o' the 'Rig'nal Seceders fell away from th' ould man's Meetin' House, and became backsliders dro' fear o' being overlooked an' ill-wished, so they said. I reckon 'twas all quignogs, but et did luk plaguey like th' evil eye, an' that there's no denyin'.

"Aw, 'twas shee-vo! 'mong the Church Members, an' no mistake; an' how 'twud ha' come round, there's no telling, ef et hadn' a-been for what Lawyer Mennear called a vouchsafement o' marcy. An' the way thicky vouchsafement comed about was this:

"Th' ould man was up to Plymouth wan day 'bout some shares he'd a-tuk in a tradin' schooner; for he'd a finger in most pies. Nuthin' i' the way o' bus'ness comed amiss to'n. Like Nicholas Kemp, he'd occashun for all."

"Who was Nicholas Kemp?" inquired Mr. Fogo.

"On'y a figger o' speech, sir. Well, ould Mennear had a-done bus'ness, an' was strollin' up Union Street 'long wi' his missus— Aunt Deb'rah Mennear, as her name was—a fine, bowerly woman, but a bit ha'f-baked in her wits; put in wi' the bread, as they say, an' tuk out wi' the cakes—when he fetches up 'pon a sudden afore a shop-windey. There was crutches inside, an' jury-legs fash'ned out o' cork, an' plaster heads drawn out in maps wi' county-towns marked in, an' bumps to show why diff'rent folks broke diff'rent Commandments, an' rows o' teeth a-grizzlin', an' blue spectacles, an' splints enough to camp-shed a thirty-acred field, an' ear-trumpets an' malignant growths—"

"Malignant growths?"

"'Like onto the fishpools in Heshbon!' says he; an' wi' that he bounses into the shop.

"'How much for them eyes?' he axes.

"'Do 'ee want the lot?' says the chap in the shop, a reg'lar little dandy-sprat, an' so pert as a jay-pie in June. ''Cos us makes a reducshun on takin' a quantity,' says he.

"'Wan'll do for me,' says Lawyer Mennear.

"'They be two pund-ten apiece,' says the whipper-snapper, 'an' ten shillin' for fixin'.'

"Well, sir, you may fancy th' ould man's face when he heerd the price. He sot down, like as ef the wind was tuk out of hes sails, an' says he—'I'll gie thirty shillin.'

"The shopman wudn' ha' this; so at et they went, higglin' an' hagglin' on til 'twas agreed at las' he shud ha' the eye for two pund-five, fixin's included. 'Twas like drawin' blood from a stone; but th' ould man had done a stroke of bus'ness that day, so in th' end he pulls out hes bag an' tells out the money 'pon the counter.

"'An' now,' says the whipper-snapper, 'which'll 'ee ha'? Grey's the colour, I reckons, ef you wants a match.'

"Well, the shopman laffs, o' cou'se, but lets 'n ha' hes own way; an' th' ould man picked out the biggest—bright blue et was, suthin' the colour of a hedgy-sparrer's egg, an' shiny-clear like a glass-alley. They was a brave long while gettin' et fixed, 'cos 'twas so big. Ef he'd a-been content an' took a smaller wan, he'd ha' done better: but he was bound to be over-reachin', was th' ould varmint, an' so he comed to grief, as you shall hear. There's many folks i' this world be knowin' as Kate Mullet."

"I never heard of that lady," said Mr. Fogo.

"There's not much to know, sir, 'cept that they say her was hanged for a fool. Hows'ever, to shorten the yarn, ould Mennear got hes eye fixed at las', an' went home wi' Aunt Deb'rah so pleased as Punch.

"Well, sir, nat'rally the Meetin' House began to fill agen, at fust out o' curiosity, but by-'m-by the list of Admitted Members began to fill up. Folk cudn' hold out when th' ould Lawyer ramped on 'bout t' other world an' there was that eye fixin' mun an' lookin' as though et had been there. I needn' tell 'ee th' ould man wore et ivery Sunday: 'deed, he wore et most days, but tuk et out o' nights, I've heerd, for 'twudn' shut when he slep', but used to scare ould Deb'rah Mennear fairly out of her sken o' moonshiny nights, when the light comed in 'pon et. An' even when her got 'n to lave et off, her used allays to put a tay-cup 'pon top o't afore closin' an eye.

"So et went on, sir, till wan Sunday mornin', when the Lawyer was fairly warmin' to hes work over the weckedness o' backsliders an' the wrath to come, he whacks the cush'n more'n ord'nary vi'lent, an' I reckon that made the eye work loose. Anyway, out et drops, and clatters down along the floor o' the Meetin' House.

Now this morning Deacon Hoskins was takin' forty winks as ushul, when the clatter made by th' ould Mennear's eye makes 'n set up, wide-awake an' starin'. This time, jedgin' by the noise, he tuk a consait that the boys had been a-playin' marbles sure 'nuff; so he takes two at haphazard, knacks their heads togither, an' then looks about. Fust thing he sees es th' eye lying out 'pon the aisle an' lookin' for all the world like a big shiny glass-alley.

"I told 'ee, sir, the Deacon were short o' sight. He hadn' a doubt by this time the boys had been foolin' about wi' marbles, so he reaches out, grabs the eye, an' slips et into hes trowsy-pocket; an' then he takes a glance round, so much as to say, 'I reckon the owner of this 'ere glass-alley'll ha' to wait afore he sees 'n agen.'

"In cou'se, the rest o' the brethren knawed what had happened, an' wan or two fell to titterin' a bit; but altogether there was a kind o' breathlessness for a moment or so, an' then th' ould Mennear sings out from the pulpit—

"'Brother Hoskins, I'll trouble you to kindly pass up that eye.'

"Deacon Hoskins stared a bit, but was too short o' sight to see what the matter was.

"'Eh?' says he.

"'Hand up that eye, ef you plaise.'

"'What eye?' says the Deacon.

"Th' ould Mennear stamped and seemed fit to swear.

"'Why, my eye, you nation bufflehead!' The Lawyer didn't mind much what he said when hes back was up; an' arter all 'twere, in a kind o' way, 'scuseable.

"'Look 'ere,' answers back the Deacon, 'ef you've drapped your eye, an' be that fond o' the cheap-jack thing that you can't get on wi'out et, send round Deacon Spettigue to hunt, an' not a man as can't see sax inches afore hes nose. Et's out o' reas'n,' he said, 'an' you ort to know better.'

"In cou'se, tho', when he found out hes mistake an' lugged the thing out o' hes pocket, there was Bedlam let loose, for up five minnits, ivery mother's son chitterin' an' laffin, an' the Deacon lookin' like a pig in a fit. He desarted the Seceders that very week, an' niver darken'd the Meetin' House door agen to the day o' hes death.

"An' now, sir, I'm a-comin' to the most curiosest part o' my yarn: an' you can believe or no, as you thinks fit, but I'll tell 'ee jest what I knows an' no more.

"Some two year arter, Lawyer Mennear tuk a corner out o' the twenty-acred field—a little patch to the right o' the gate as you went in—an' planted et wi' green peas. Six rows he planted, an' beautiful peas, too, on'y the birds wudn' let mun ha' a chance. Well, at las' th' ould man got mad, an' stuck me 'pon top o' the hedge wi' a clapper to scare the birds away; 'sides which, to make sure, he rigged up a scarecrow. 'Twas a lovely scarecrow: two cross-sticks an' the varmer's own coat—'twas the coat he'd a-got married in forty year afore. He gied et to me when the scarecrow had done wi' et, an' the tails were so long as an Act o' Parlyment. 'Top o' this was a whackin' big turmut by way o' face, wi' a red scarf round the neck—from Aunt Deb'rah's petticoat—an' wan o' th' ould man's left-off wigs 'pon the crown, an' a high-poll hat, a bit rusted wi' Sunday obsarvance, to finish. Did I say 'to finish'?

"Well, then, I said wrong. 'Cos jest when I'd a-rigged 'n up, down comes Aunt Deb'rah an' cries out, 'Aw, Caleb, here be suthin' more! Do 'ee fix et in, that's a dear; an' ef et don't scare away any bird as iver flied, then,' says she, 'I'm wuss nor any bird'; an' wi' that she opens her hand an' gies me the Lawyer's cast-off eye.

"So I outs wi' my pocket-knife an' digs a hole in the turmat face, an' inside o' ten minnits there was the scarecrow finished off. Aw, sir, 'twas a beautiful scarecrow; an' when us stuck et up, I tell 'ee that from the kitchen windeys, three hundred yards away, et seemed like life itsel'.

"Well, sir, fust day 'twas stuck there, I sot beside the hedge, round the corner, watchin', and while I sot two queerish things happen'd— tho' the fust warn't so queer nuther, but jest human natur', when you comes to consider et. 'Twas this. I hadn' been there an hour afore two score an' dree wimmen—I knows, 'cos I kep' count—came, wan arter anuther, down to the gate to make sheep's eyes at that scarecrow, havin' heerd as there was a well-dressed lad down among the peas. An' that's true, ef I swears et 'pon the Book."

"Ah!" was Mr. Fogo's only comment.

"Iss, sir; an' well you may say so. But the nex' thing I noticed was a sight queerer. In fac' I dunno but et's the queerest go I iver heard tell 'bout. But you may jedge for yoursel'.

"I'd been a-settin' there for the best part o' two hour, an' keepin' count o' how wan bird arter another comed up for they peas, an' turned tail at sight o' the scarecrow. For et didn' seem like no ord'nary scarecrow, sir, wi' that eye a-glintin' in the sunshine. I cou'd see 't from where I sot—an' so the birds thought. Well, wan arter another, they steps up an' flies off as ef hurried for time, when by-'m-by 'long comes an ould rook.

"He jest sa'ntered up quite leisurable, did this rook, an' lit 'pon a pea-stick to take a blinch round. Nat'rally he cotches sight o' the scarecrow, an' nat'rally I looked for 'n to turn tail, like the rest. But no, sir.

"Where he was, the scarecrow's back was t'wards 'un, an' th' ould bird jest looks et up an' down, an' this way an' that, an' cocks his head 'pon wan side, an' looks agen an' chuckles, for all the world as ef to say, 'Et looks like a man, an' 'tis fixed like a man; but dash my wig! ef 'tain't a scarecrow an' no more, I ain't fit to live in an age o' imitashuns.'

"Well, he jest sot an' sot, an' arter a while he began for to taste the flavour o' the joke, an' then he lay back an' laffed, did that bird, till he was fit to sweat. I reckoned I'd a-heerd birds laff afore this, but I made an error. My 'ivens, sir! but he jest clinched on to that pea-stick, an' shook the enj'yment out of hissel' like a conjurer shellin' cannon-balls from a hat. An' then he'd stop a bit, an' then fall to hootin' agen, till I was forced to laff too, way back behind the hedge, for cumpanny. An' ivery time he noted a fresh bit o' likelihood in the scarecrow he'd go off in a fresh fit. I thought he'd niver ha' done.

"But in a while he hushed, an' waited a bit to calm hes nerves, an' stepped down off the pea-stick. Thinks I, 'What es he up to now?' An' I stood up to see, but quiet-like, so's I shudn' scare 'n.

"I hadn' long to wait. He jest steps up behind the scarecrow, makes a leg, so grave as you plaise, an' commences for to dance round 'un— fust 'pon wan leg, then 'pon t'other—like as ef 'twas a haythen dancin' round a graven image. But the flauntin' ins'lence o't, sir! The brazen, fleerin' abusefulness! Not a feather, ef you'll believe me, but fairly leaked wi' ribaldry—jest leaked.

"Th' ould bird had got ha'f-way round, a-mincin' an' japin', an' throwin' out hes legs this way an' that an' gettin' more boldacious an' ondacent wi' ivery step, when he cocks his head askew for a second, jest to see how the pore image was a-takin' o't, an' that moment he catches the scarecrow's eye.

"Well, in cou'se I tells the tale, an' was called a liard for my pains. But the same thing happen'd nex' Sunday, an' the Sunday arter—an' not a pea stolen all the time—an' a good few people comed down behind the hedge to see, an' owned up as I were right. Et got to be the talk o' the country; an' how 'twud ha' ended, goodness on'y knaws, ef I hadn' a-spi'led the sport mysel'. An' how I did so, you shall hear.

"Wan day I tuk a consait as 'twud be a game to take away the scarecrow's eye an' see what happen'd. So, late 'pon a Sat'rday night, down I goes an' digs out the eye wi' my jack-knife, an' lays et careful down 'pon the ground beside et, an' so off to bed.

"Nex' mornin' I were down waitin' some time afore the rooks was due, an' by-'m-by, about 'leven in the forenoon, 'long they comes by the score, an' takes the sittin's 'pon the pea-sticks. They was barely settled, when out steps my ould rook an' walks up to the scarecrow to lead off same as ushul.

"He gives a shake o' the head to set hes jawin'-tacks loose, casts a glance up'ards t'wards the eye, jes' to fetch inspirashun, an' starts back like as ef shot. You cou'd see the 'stonishment clinch 'n, an' the look o' righteousness melted off hes face like snow in an oven. For that bird had gifts, sir; an' wan o' these was a power o' fashul expresshun. Well, back he starts, an', with the same, cotches sight o' the eye lyin' 'pon the ground an' starin' up all heav'nly-blue an' smilin'.

"There was a pause arter this, jes' about so long as you cou'd count twenty; an' the rest o' the congregashun began to fidget an' whisper round that suthin' was up, when all 'pon a sudden my ould rook straightens hissel' up an' begins to cuss and to swear. What's that you say, sir? Rooks don't swear? Don't tell me. Blasphemin'? Why, in two minnits the air was stiff wi' blasphemy—you might ha' cut et wi' a knife. An' oaths? Why, you cou'd feel the oaths. An' there he sot an' cussed, an' cussed an' sot, an' let the hatefulness run out like watter from a pump.

"In cou'se, 'twarnt long afore the rest gather'd round to larn what the mess was, an' then there was Chevychace. They handed round the eye, an' looked at et this way an' that, an' 'splained what had happen'd wan to t'other; an' then they hushed an' stood quiet while their dasayved brother cussed hissel' out. Not a smile 'mongst the lot, sir; not a wink, as I be a truthful man.

"At las' he'd a-done, an' not too soon for hes lungs; an' then the lot sat down an' conseddered et out, an' still not a word for minnits togither. But all to wanst up starts a youngish-lookin' rook, an' makes a speech.

"'Twarn't a long speech, sir, an' nat'rally I didn't understand a word: but I cotched his drift in a minnit, tho'. For they rooks started up, walked back to their seats, an' what do 'ee think they did?"

"I couldn't pretend to guess," said Mr. Fogo.

"They jes' started that sarvice agan, sir, an' paradised et from start to finish. They mixed up ow jests wi' the prayers, an' flung in fancy yarns wi' their experiences, an' made a mock at th' exhortashun; an' what they sung in place o' the hemn, I don't know; but I do knaw this much—et warn't fit for a woman to list'n to.

"Well, I laffed—I was forced to laff—but arter a while et grew a bit too strong, an' I runned up to th' house to fetch down a few folks to look. I warn't away 'bove ten minnits; but when I comed back there warn't no rook to be seen, nor no eye nuther. They'd a-carr'd et off to Squire Tresawsen's rookery, an' et's niver been seen fro' that day to this."

There was silence for a few moments as Caleb finished his story and lit another pipe. Finally Mr. Fogo roused him to ask—

"What became of your master, Caleb?"

"A what?"

"Ah!" said Mr. Fogo, pensively, "she was a woman, was she not?"

"To be sure, sir; what elst?—a female woman, an' so baptised."

There was a moment's silence; then Caleb resumed—

"But contrari-wise, sir, the army cap'n was a man."

"Ah! yes, of course; let us be just—the army captain was a man. Caleb," said Mr. Fogo, with a sudden change from his pensive manner, "has it ever occurred to you to guess why I—not yet an old man, Caleb—am living in this solitude?"

"Beggin' your pard'n, sir, an' makin' so free as to guess, but were it a woman by any chance?"

"Yes," said his master, rising hurriedly and lighting his candle, "it was a woman, Caleb—it was a woman. You won't forget that Notice to-morrow morning, will you?—the first thing, if you please, Caleb."