"Once Aboard the Lugger"

by Arthur Quiller-Couch

Early last Fall there died in Troy an old man and his wife. The womanwent first, and the husband took a chill at her grave's edge, when hestood bareheaded in a lashing shower. The loose earth crumbled underhis feet, trickled over, and dropped on her coffin-lid. Through twolong nights he lay on his bed without sleeping and listened to thissound. At first it ran in his ears perpetually, but afterwards he heardit at intervals only, in the pauses of acute suffering. On the seventhday he died, of pleuro-pneumonia; and on the tenth (a Sunday) theyburied him. For just fifty years the dead man had been minister of theIndependent chapel on the hill, and had laid down his pastorate twoyears before, on his golden wedding-day. Consequently there was afuneral sermon, and the young man, his successor, chose II. Samuel,i. 23, for his text--"Lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in theirdeath they were not divided." Himself a newly-married man, he waxeddithyrambic on the sustained affection and accord of the departedcouple. "Truly," he wound up, "such marriages as theirs were made inHeaven." And could they have heard, the two bodies in the cemetery hadnot denied it; but the woman, after the fashion of women, would havequalified the young minister's assertion in her secret heart.When, at the close of the year 1839, the Rev. Samuel Bax visited Troyfor the first time, to preach his trial sermon at Salem Chapel, hearrived by Boutigo's van, late on a Saturday night, and departed againfor Plymouth at seven o'clock on Monday morning. He had just turnedtwenty-one, and looked younger, and the zeal of his calling was strongupon him. Moreover he was shaken with nervous anxiety for the successof his sermon; so that it is no marvel if he carried away but blurredand misty impressions of the little port and the congregation that satbeneath him that morning, ostensibly reverent, but actually on thepounce for heresy or any sign of weakness. Their impressions, at anyrate, were sharp enough. They counted his thumps upon the desk, notedhis one reference to "the original Greek," saw and remembered the flushon his young face and the glow in his eyes as he hammered the doctrineof the redemption out of original sin. The deacons fixed the subject ofthese trial sermons, and had chosen original sin on the ground that agood beginning was half the battle. The maids in the congregation knewbeforehand that he was unmarried, and came out of chapel knowing alsothat his eyes were brown, that his hair had a reddish tinge in certainlights; that one of his cuffs was frayed slightly, but his black coathad scarcely been worn a dozen times; with other trifles. They loiteredby the chapel door until he came out in company with Deacon Snowden, whowas conveying him off to dinner. The deacon on week days washarbour-master of the port, and on Sundays afforded himself roasted duckfor dinner. Lizzie Snowden walked at her father's right hand. She wasa slightly bloodless blonde, tall, with a pretty complexion, and hairupon which it was rumoured she could sit if she were so minded.The girls watched the young preacher and his entertainers as they moveddown the hill, the deacon talking and his daughter turning her headaside as if it were merely in the half of the world on her right handthat she took the least interest."That's to show 'en the big plait," commented one of the group behind."He can't turn his head t'wards her, but it stares 'en in the face.""An' her features look best from the left side, as everybody knows.""I reckon, if he's chosen minister, that Lizzie'll have 'en," said atall, lanky girl. She was apprenticed to a dressmaker and engaged to ayoung tin-smith. Having laid aside ambition on her own account, sheflung in this remark as an apple of discord."Jenifer Hosken has a chance. He's fair-skinned hissel', an' Lizzie'stoo near his own colour. Black's mate is white, as they say.""There's Sue Tregraine. She'll have more money than either, when herfather dies.""What, marry one o' Ruan!" the speaker tittered despitefully."Why not?"The only answer was a shrug. Ruan is a small town that faces Troyacross the diminutive harbour, or perhaps I should say that Troy looksdown upon it at this slight distance. When a Trojan speaks of it hesays, "Across the water," with as much implied contempt as though hemeant Botany Bay. There is no cogent reason for this, except that thepoorer class at Ruan earns its livelihood by fishing. In the eyes ofits neighbours the shadow of this lonely calling is cast upwards uponits wealthier inhabitants. Troy depends on commerce, and in the days ofwhich I write employed these wealthier men of Ruan to build ships forit. Further it did not condescend. Intermarriage between the towns wasalmost unheard of, and even now it is rare. Yet they are connected by apenny ferry."Her father's a shipbuilder," urged Sue Tregraine's supporter."He might so well keep crab pots, for all the chance she'll have."Now there was a Ruan girl standing just outside this group, and sheheard what was said. Her name was Nance Trewartha and her father was afisherman, who did in fact keep crab-pots. Moreover, she was his onlychild, and helped him at his trade. She could handle a boat as well asa man, she knew every sea mark up and down the coast for thirty miles,she could cut up bait, and her hands were horny with handling ropes fromher childhood. But on Sundays she wore gloves, and came across theferry to chapel, and was as wise as any of her sex. She had knownbefore coming out of her pew that the young minister had a well shapedback to his head and a gold ring on his little finger with somebody'shair in the collet, under a crystal. She was dark, straight, and lissomof figure, with ripe lips and eyes as black as sloes, and she hoped thatthe hair in the minister's ring was his mother's. She was well aware ofher social inferiority; but--the truth may be told--she chose to forgetit that morning, and to wonder what this young man would be like as ahusband. She had looked up into his face during sermon time, devouringhis boyish features, noticing his refined accent, marking every gesture.Certainly he was comely and desirable. As he walked down the hill byDeacon Snowden's side, she was perfectly conscious of the longing in herheart, but prepared to put a stop to it, and go home to dinner as soonas he had turned the corner and passed out of sight. Then came thatunhappy remark about the crab-pots. She bit her lip for a moment,turned, and walked slowly off towards the ferry, full of thought.Three weeks after, the Rev. Samuel Bax received his call.He arrived, to assume his duties, in the waning light of a soft Januaryday. Boutigo's van set him down, with a carpet-bag, band-box, and chestof books, at the door of the lodgings which Deacon Snowden had taken forhim. The house stood in the North Street, as it is called. It was asmall, yellow-washed building, containing just half-a-dozen rooms, andof these the two set apart for the minister looked straight upon theharbour. Under his sitting-room window was a little garden, and at theend of the garden a low wall with a stretch of water beyond it, and abarque that lay at anchor but a stone's throw away, as it seemed, itsmasts stretching high against the misty hillside. A green-painted doorwas let into the garden wall--a door with two flaps, the upper of whichstood open; and through this opening he caught another glimpse of greywater.The landlady, who showed him into this room, and at once began toexplain that the furniture was better than it looked, was hardlyprepared for the rapture with which he stared out of the window.His boyhood had been spent in a sooty Lancashire town, and to him thegreen garden, the quay-door, the barque, and the stilly water, seemed tofall little short of Paradise."I reckoned you'd like it," she said. "An' to be sure, 'tis a blessingyou do."He turned his stare upon her for a moment. She was a benign-lookingwoman of about fifty, in a short-skirted grey gown and widow's cap."Why do you say that?""Because, leavin' out the kitchen, there's but four rooms, two for youan' two for me; two facin' the harbour, an' two facin' the street. Now,if you'd took a dislike to this look-out, I must ha' put you over thestreet, an' moved in here myself. I do like the street, too. There'sso much more goin' on.""I think this arrangement will be better in every way," said the youngminister."I'm glad of it. Iss, there's no denyin' that I'm main glad.From upstairs you can see right down the harbour, which is prettieragain. Would'ee like to see it now? O' course you would--an' it'll beso much handier for me answerin' the door, too. There's a back door atthe end o' the passage. You've only to slip a bolt an' you'm out in thegarden--out to your boat, if you choose to keep one. But the garden's atidy little spot to walk up an' down in an' make up your sermons, wi'nobody to overlook you but the folk next door; an' they'm church-goers."After supper that evening, the young minister unpacked his books and wasabout to arrange them, but drifted to the window instead. He paused fora minute or two with his face close to the pane, and then flung up thesash. A faint north wind breathed down the harbour, scarcely rufflingthe water. Around and above him the frosty sky flashed with innumerablestars, and over the barque's masts, behind the long chine of the easternhill, a soft radiance heralded the rising moon. It was a young moon,and, while he waited, her thin horn pushed up through the furze brake onthe hill's summit and she mounted into the free heaven. With upturnedeye the young minister followed her course for twenty minutes, notconsciously observant; for he was thinking over his ambitions, and athis time of life these are apt to soar with the moon. Though possessedwith zeal for good work in this small seaside town, he intended thatTroy should be but a stepping-stone in his journey. He meant to go far.And while he meditated his future, forgetting the chill in the nightair, it was being decided for him by a stronger will than his own.More than this, that will had already passed into action. His destinywas actually launched on the full spring tide that sucked the crevicesof the grey wall at the garden's end.A slight sound drew the minister's gaze down from the moon to thequay-door. Its upper flap still stood open, allowing a square ofmoonlight to pierce the straight black shadow of the garden wall.In this square of moonlight were now framed the head and shoulders of ahuman being. The young man felt a slight chill run down his spine.He leant forward out of the window and challenged the apparition, batinghis tone as all people bate it at that hour."Who are you?" he demanded.There was no reply for a moment, though he felt sure his voice must havecarried to the quay-door. The figure paused for a second or two, thenunbarred the lower flap of the door and advanced across the wall'sshadow to the centre of the bright grass-plat under the window. It wasthe figure of a young woman. Her head was bare and her sleeves turnedup to the elbows. She wore no cloak or wrap to cover her from the nightair, and her short-skirted, coarse frock was open at the neck. As sheturned up her face to the window, the minister could see by the moon'srays that it was well-favoured."Be you the new preacher?" she asked, resting a hand on her hip andspeaking softly up to him."I am the new Independent minister.""Then I've come for you.""Come for me?""Iss; my name's Nance Trewartha, an' you'm wanted across the water,quick as possible. Old Mrs. Slade's a-dyin' to-night, over yonder.""She wants me?""She's one o' your congregation, an' can't die easy till you've seenher. I reckon she's got something 'pon her mind; an' I was to fetch youover, quick as I could."As she spoke the church clock down in the town chimed out the hour, andimmediately after, ten strokes sounded on the clear air.The minister consulted his own watch and seemed to be considering."Very well," said he after a pause. "I'll come. I suppose I must crossby the ferry.""Ferry's closed this two hours, an' you needn't wake up any in thehouse. I've brought father's boat to the ladder below, an' I'll bringyou back again. You've only to step out here by the back door. An'wrap yourself up, for 'tis a brave distance.""Very well. I suppose it's really serious.""Mortal. I'm glad you'll come," she added simply.The young man nodded down in a friendly manner, and going back into theroom, slipped on his overcoat, picked up his hat, and turned the lampdown carefully. Then he struck a match, found his way to the back-door,and unbarred it. The girl was waiting for him, still in the centre ofthe grass-plat."I'm glad you've come," she repeated, but this time there was somethinglike constraint in her voice. As he pulled-to the door softly shemoved, and led the way down to the water-side.From the quay-door a long ladder ran down to the water. At low waterone had to descend twenty feet and more; but now the high tide left butthree of its rungs uncovered. At the young minister's feet a smallfishing-boat lay ready, moored by a short painter to the ladder.The girl stepped lightly down and held up a hand."Thank you," said the young man with dignity, "but I do not want help."She made no answer to this; but as he stepped down, went forward andunmoored the painter. Then she pushed gently away from the ladder,hoisted the small foresail, and, returning to her companion, stoodbeside him for a moment with her hand on the tiller."Better slack the fore-sheet," she said suddenly.The young man looked helplessly at her. He had not the slightest ideaof her meaning, did not in fact know the difference between a fore-sheetand a mainsail. And it was just to find out the depth of his ignorancethat she had spoken."Never mind," she said, "I'll do it myself." She slackened and madefast the rope, and took hold of the tiller again. The sails shook andfilled softly as they glided out from under the wall. The soft breezeblew straight behind them, the tide was just beginning to ebb.She loosed the main sheet a little, and the water hissed as they spundown under the grey town towards the harbour's mouth.A dozen vessels lay at anchor below the town quay, their lamps showing astrange orange yellow in the moonlight; between them the minister sawthe cottages of Ruan glimmering on the eastern shore, and over it thecoast-guard flagstaff, faintly pencilled above the sky-line. It seemedto him that they were not shaping their course for the little town."I thought you told me," he said at length, "that Mrs.--the dyingwoman--lived across there."The girl shook her head. "Not in Ruan itsel'--Ruan parish. We'll haveto go round the point."She was leaning back and gazing straight before her, towards theharbour's mouth. The boat was one of the class that serves along thatcoast for hook-and-line as well as drift net fishing, clinker-built,about twenty-seven feet in the keel, and nine in beam. It had no deckbeyond a small cuddy forward, on top of which a light hoar-frost wasgathering as they moved. The minister stood beside the girl, andwithdrew his eyes from this cuddy roof to contemplate her."Do you mean to say," he asked, "that you don't take cold, wearing nowrap or bonnet on frosty nights like this?"She let the tiller go for a moment, took his hand by the wrist, and laidit on her own bare arm. He felt the flesh, but it was firm and warm.Then he withdrew his hand hastily, without finding anything to say.His eyes avoided hers. When, after half a minute, he looked at heragain, her gaze was fixed straight ahead, upon the misty stretch of seabeyond the harbour's mouth.In a minute or two they were gliding out between the tall cliff and thereef of rocks that guard this entrance on either side. On the reefstood a wooden cross, painted white, warning vessels to give a wideberth; on the cliff a grey castle, with a battery before it, under theguns of which they spun seaward, still with the wind astern.Outside, the sea lay as smooth as within the harbour. The wind blewsteadily off the shore, so that, close-hauled, one might fetch up ordown Channel with equal ease. The girl began to flatten the sails, andasked her companion to bear a hand. Their hands met over a rope, andthe man noted with surprise that the girl's was feverishly hot.Then she brought the boat's nose round to the eastward and, heelinggently over the dark water, they began to skirt the misty coast with thebreeze on their left cheeks."How much farther?" asked the minister.She nodded towards the first point in the direction of Plymouth.He turned his coat-collar up about his ears and wondered if his dutywould often take him on such journeys as this. Also he felt thankfulthat the sea was smooth. He might, or might not, be given tosea-sickness: but somehow he was sincerely glad that he had not to beput to the test for the first time in this girl's presence.They passed the small headland and still the boat held on its way."I had no idea you were going to take me this distance. Didn't youpromise me the house lay just beyond the point we've just passed?"To his amazement the girl drew herself up, looked him straight in theface and said--"There's no such place.""What?""There's no such place. There's nobody ill at all. I told you a lie.""You told me a lie--then why in the name of common sense am I here?""Because, young man--because, sir, I'm sick o' love for you, an' Iwant'ee to marry me.""Great heaven!" the young minister muttered, recoiling. "Is the girlmad?""Ah, but look at me, sir!" She seemed to grow still taller as she stoodthere, resting one hand on the tiller and gazing at him with perfectlyserious eyes. "Look at me well before you take up with some other o'the girls. To-morrow they'll be all after 'ee, an' this'll be my onlychance; for my father's no better'n a plain fisherman, an' they're allabove me in money an' rank. I be but a Ruan girl, an' my family isnaught. But look at me well; there's none stronger nor comelier, northat'll love thee so dear!"The young man gasped. "Set me ashore at once!" he commanded, stampinghis foot."Nay, that I will not till thou promise, an' that's flat. Dear lad,listen--an' consent, consent--an' I swear to thee thou'll never be sorryfor't.""I never heard such awful impropriety in my life. Turn back; I orderyou to steer back to the harbour at once!"She shook her head. "No, lad; I won't. An' what's more, you don't knowhow to handle a boat, an' couldn't get back by yoursel', not in amonth.""This is stark madness. You--you abandoned woman, how long do you meanto keep me here?""Till thou give in to me. We'm goin' straight t'wards Plymouth now, an'if th' wind holds--as 'twill--we'll be off the Rame in two hours.If you haven't said me yes by that maybe we'll go on; or perhaps we'llrun across to the coast o' France--""Girl, do you know that if I'm not back by day-break, I'm ruined!""And oh, man, man! Can't 'ee see that I'm ruined, too, if I turn backwithout your word? How shall I show my face in Troy streets again, tellme?"At this sudden transference of responsibility the minister wasstaggered."You should have thought of that before," he said, employing the oneobvious answer."O' course I thought of it. But for love o' you I made up my mind torisk it. An' now there's no goin' back." She paused a moment and thenadded, as a thought struck her, "Why, lad, doesn' that prove I love 'eeuncommon?""I prefer not to consider the question. Once more--will you go back?""I can't."He bit his lips and moved forward to the cuddy, on the roof of which heseated himself sulkily. The girl tossed him an end of rope."Dear, better coil that up an' sit 'pon it. The frost'll strike a chillinto thee."With this she resumed her old attitude by the tiller. Her eyes werefixed ahead, her gaze passing just over the minister's hat. When heglanced up he saw the rime twinkling on her shoulders and the star-shinein her dark eyes. Around them the heavens blazed with constellations.Never had the minister seen them so multitudinous or so resplendent.Never before had the firmament seemed so alive to him. He could almosthear it breathe. And beneath the stars the little boat raced eastward,with the reef-points pattering on its tan sails.Neither spoke. For the most part the minister avoided the girl's eyes,and sat nursing his wrath. The whole affair was ludicrous; but it meantthe sudden ruin of his good name, at the very start of his career.This was the word he kept grinding between his teeth--"ruin," "ruin."Whenever it pleased this mad creature to set him ashore, he must writeto Deacon Snowden for his boxes and resign all connection with Troy.But would he ever get rid of the scandal? Could he ever be sure that,to whatever distance he might flee, it would not follow him? Had he notbetter abandon his calling, once and for all? It was hard.A star shot down from the Milky Way and disappeared in darkness behindthe girl's shoulders. His eyes, following it, encountered hers.She left the tiller and came slowly forward."In three minutes we'll open Plymouth Sound," she said quietly, and thenwith a sharp gesture flung both arms out towards him. "Oh, lad, thinkbetter o't an' turn back wi' me! Say you'll marry me, for I'm perishin'o' love!"The moonshine fell on her throat and extended arms. Her lips wereparted, her head was thrown back a little, and for the first time theyoung minister saw that she was a beautiful woman."Ay, look, look at me!" she pleaded. "That's what I've wanted 'ee to doall along. Take my hands: they'm shapely to look at and strong to workfor 'ee."Hardly knowing what he did, the young man took them; then in a moment helet them go--but too late; they were about his neck.With that he sealed his fate for good or ill. He bent forward a littleand their lips met.So steady was the wind that the boat still held on her course; but nosooner had the girl received the kiss than she dropped her arms, walkedoff, and shifted the helm."Unfasten the sheet there," she commanded, "and duck your head clear."As soon as their faces were set for home, the minister walked back tothe cuddy roof and sat down to reflect. Not a word was spoken till theyreached the harbour's mouth again, and then he pulled out his watch.It was half-past four in the morning.Outside the Battery Point the girl hauled down the sails and got out thesweeps; and together they pulled up under the still sleeping town to theminister's quay-door. He was clumsy at this work, but she instructedhim in whispers, and they managed to reach the ladder as the clocks werestriking five. The tide was far down by this time, and she held theboat close to the ladder while he prepared to climb. With his foot onthe first round, he turned. She was white as a ghost, and tremblingfrom top to toe."Nance--did you say your name was Nance?"She nodded."What's the matter?""I'll--I'll let you off, if you want to be let off.""I'm not sure that I do," he said, and stealing softly up the ladder,stood at the top and watched her boat as she steered it back to Ruan.Three months after, they were married, to the indignant amazement of theminister's congregation. It almost cost him his pulpit, but he held onand triumphed. There is no reason to believe that he ever repented ofhis choice, or rather of Nance's. To be sure, she had kidnapped him bya lie; but perhaps she wiped it out by fifty years of honest affection.On that point, however, I, who tell the tale, will not dogmatise.

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