Cornwall's Wonderland Part 8

Anne lifted her arm and looked at it and her hand; there was not a single jewel on either. She glanced down over her gown,--it was of linsey-woolsey, not silk or velvet. She closed her eyes again that they might not see the tears that sprang to them.

"I don't know if I've been in a fit," she said wearily, but to herself she added sadly, "I know, though, that I've been in love."

BARKER AND THE BUCCAS.

Perhaps some of you have never heard about the 'Buccas,' or 'Knockers,'

as some people call them, the busy little people about the same size as piskies, who are said to be the souls of the Jews who used to work in the tin mines in Cornwall.

The Buccas live always in rocks, mines, or wells, and they work incessantly pickaxing, digging, sifting, etc., from one year's end to the other, except on Christmas Day, Easter Day, All Saints' Day, and the Jews'

Sabbath. On those days their little tools are laid aside, and all is quiet, but on every other you can, if you listen, hear them hammer, hammer, dig, dig, and their tongues chattering all the time.

A lot of these little people lived and worked within the sides of a well in one particular part of Cornwall, the name of which I will not tell you, for in the first place you would not be able to p.r.o.nounce it if I did; and in the second, you might be tempted to go there and disturb them, which would make them angry, and bring all kinds of ill-luck and trouble upon yourself.

The story I am going to tell you is of someone who did disturb them, and pried upon them after laughing at them. The name of the youth was Barker, a great, idle, hulking fellow, who lived in the neighbourhood of the well where these little Buccas dwelt.

Now this Barker often heard the neighbours talking about the Buccas, and praising their industry, and, like most idle people, he disliked hearing others praised for doing what he knew he ought to do but would not.

So, to annoy the neighbours, and the Buccas, too, he declared he "didn't believe there wasn't no such things. Seeing was believing, and when they showed him a Bucca 'twould be soon enough for him to b'lieve there was such things." And he repeated this every time the little men were mentioned.

"'Tis nowt but dreams," he sneered, "there ba'nt no Buccas in Fairy Well, no more nor I'm a Bucca."

"You a Bucca!" cried the neighbours, "why, they wouldn't own such a lazy good-for-nothing. They does more work in a morning than you'd get through in a year, you who never does a hand's-turn for anybody and haven't sense enough to earn your own bread!"

"I've sense enough to find out if there's any such things as Buccas in that there well, and I'll go there and watch and listen till I finds out something, and if there's Buccas there I'll catch one!"

So away he went to spend his time idly lying amidst the tall gra.s.s and ferns which grew thickly around the well. This sort of job suited him to a nicety, for the sun was warm and pleasant, and he did no work, for, said he, if he was to work he wouldn't be able to hear any sounds that might come from below. And for once he spoke the truth.

Day after day Barker went and lay by the Fairy Well, and at first he heard never a sound but the birds singing, and the bees humming, and his own breathing. By and by, though, other sounds began to make themselves heard by him, noises of digging and hammering, and numbers of little voices talking and laughing merrily.

Barker could not at first make out what they said, but he could understand that they were always busy. Instead, though, of taking them as an example, the lazy fellow only said to himself gleefully that if others worked so hard, there was the less need for him to do so!

Having discovered that his neighbours were right, and that there really were such people as Buccas, you would have thought that he would have hurried home to tell of his discoveries; but no, he liked the lazy life, lying in the sun by the well, doing nothing. So he kept quiet about his discovery, and every day started off for his favourite spot, making the excuse that he was still watching for Buccas.

As the days pa.s.sed by he began to understand what the little workmen said, and he gathered from their talk that they worked in sets, and that each set worked for eight hours,--which was, of course, the origin of the Eight Hours Day we hear so much about. He also found that when they had finished they hid away their tools, and every day in a fresh place.

I cannot tell you why they hid them, or from whom, unless it was those other 'little people,' the Fairies and Piskies, who love to be up to mischief when they are not doing good. It could not have been from each other that they hid the things, for they talked together about the hiding-places.

One evening, when the day's work was coming to an end, Barker heard the usual discussion begin. "I shall hide mine in this cleft in the rock,"

said one.

"Very well, then I will hide mine under the ferns."

"Oh," said a third, "I shall leave mine _on Barker's knee_."

You may be sure it gave Barker quite a shock to hear his own name spoken in those mysterious regions, it frightened him, too, but before he could stir his big, lazy body and run away,--as he meant to do,--he felt three hard blows, bang! whack! bang! and then a heavy weight fell crash upon his knee.

Barker roared and bellowed like a great calf, for the pain was very great, and he was a big coward.

"Take it away! take it away!" he cried, but the only answer was peal upon peal of mocking laughter. "Oh my poor knee, oh my poor knee, I'm lame for life! Take away them tools! Oh my, oh my!" but the more he screamed, the more the Buccas laughed. They laughed and laughed until they were tired, then they vanished, and Master Barker was left to make his way home as best he could. He did not want to tell the neighbours how he got his stiff knee, but pretended he had had a fall; the neighbours, though, soon found out, and pretty well he was laughed at for a long time wherever he went.

Never again did Barker doubt the existence of the Buccas, never again did he speak disrespectfully of them, nor could he forget the lesson he had been taught, for to his dying day he had a stiff knee, and nothing would cure it.

Now, if ever you hear of anyone having 'Barker's knee' you will know that he has spoken rudely of the Buccas, and that the Buccas have paid him out.

LUTEY AND THE MERMAID.

One lovely summer evening many, many years ago, an old man named Lutey was standing on the seash.o.r.e not far from that beautiful bit of coast called the Lizard.

On the edge of the cliff above him stood a small farm, and here he lived, spending his time between farming, fishing, and, we must admit it, smuggling, too, whenever he got a chance. This summer evening he had finished his day's work early, and while waiting for his supper he strolled along the sands a little way, to see if there was any wreckage to be seen, for it was long since he had had any luck in that way, and he was very much put out about it.

This evening, though, he was no luckier than he had been before, and he was turning away, giving up his search as hopeless, when from somewhere out seaward came a long, low, wailing cry. It was not the melancholy cry of a gull, but of a woman or child in distress.

Lutey stopped, and listened, and looked back, but, as far as he could see, not a living creature was to be seen on the beach but himself.

Even though while he listened the sound came wailing over the sand again, and this time left no doubt in his mind. It was a voice. Someone was in trouble, evidently, and calling for help.

Far out on the sands rose a group of rocks which, though covered at high water, were bare now. It was about half ebb, and spring tide, too, so the sea was further out than usual, so far, in fact, that a wide bar of sand stretched between the rocks and the sea. It was from these rocks that the cry seemed to come, and Lutey, feeling sure that someone was out there in distress, turned and walked back quickly to see if he could give any help.

As he drew near he saw that there was no one on the landward side, so he hurried round to the seaward,--and there, to his amazement, his eyes met a sight which left him almost speechless!

Lying on a ledge at the base of the rock, partially covered by the long seaweed which grew in profusion over its rough sides, and partially by her own hair, which was the most glorious you can possibly imagine, was the most beautiful woman his eyes had ever lighted upon. Her skin was a delicate pink and white, even more beautiful than those exquisite little sh.e.l.ls one picks up sometimes on the seash.o.r.e, her clear green eyes sparkled and flashed like the waves with the sun on them, while her hair was the colour of rich gold, like the sun in its glory, and with a ripple in it such as one sees on the sea on a calm day.

This wonderful creature was gazing mournfully out at the distant sea, and uttering from time to time the pitiful cry which had first attracted Lutey's attention. She was evidently in great distress, but how to offer her help and yet not frighten her he knew not, for the roar of the sea had deadened the sound of his footsteps on the soft sand, and she was quite unconscious of his presence.

Lutey coughed and hem'd, but it was of no use--she could not or did not hear; he stamped, he kicked the rock, but all in vain, and at last he had to go close to her and speak.

"What's the matter, missie?" he said. "What be doing all out here by yourself?" He spoke as gently as possible, but, in spite of his gentleness, the lovely creature shrieked with terror, and diving down into the deep pool at the base of the rock, disappeared entirely.

At first Lutey thought she had drowned herself, but when he looked closely into the pool, and contrived to peer through the cloud of hair which floated like fine seaweed all over the top of it, he managed to distinguish a woman's head and shoulders underneath, and looking closer he saw, he was sure, a fish's tail! His knees quaked under him, at that sight, for he realized that the lovely lady was no other than a mermaid!

She, though, seemed as frightened as he was, so he summoned up his courage to speak to her again, for it is always wise to be kind to mermaids, and to avoid offending them, for if they are angry there is no knowing what harm they may do to you.

"Don't be frightened, lady," he said coaxingly; "I wouldn't hurt 'ee for the world, I wouldn't harm a living creature. I only wants to know what your trouble is."

While he was speaking, the maiden had raised her head slightly above the water, and now was gazing at him with eyes the like of which he had never seen before. "I 'opes she understands Carnish," he added to himself, "for 'tis the only langwidge I'm fluent in."

"Beautiful sir," she replied in answer to his thoughts, "we sea-folk can understand all languages, for we visit the coast of every land, and all the tribes of the world sail over our kingdom, and oft-times come down through the waters to our home. The greatest kindness you can do me is to go away. You are accustomed to women who walk, covered with silks and laces. We could not wear such in our world, sporting in the waves, swimming into caverns, clambering into sunken ships. You cannot realize our free and untrammelled existence."

"Now, my lovely lady," said old Lutey, who did not understand a half of what she was saying, "don't 'ee think anything about such trifles, but stop your tears and tell me what I can do for 'ee. For, for sure, I can help 'ee somehow. Tell me how you come'd here, and where you wants to get to."

So the fair creature floated higher in the water, and, gradually growing braver, she presently climbed up and perched herself on the rock where Lutey had first seen her. Her long hair fell about her like a glorious mantle, and she needed no other, for it quite covered her. Holding in her hand her comb and mirror, and glancing from time to time at the latter, she told the old man her story.

"Only a few hours ago," she said sadly, "I was sporting about with my husband and children, as happy as a mermaiden could be. At length, growing weary, we all retired to rest in one of the caverns at Kynance, and there on a soft couch of seaweed my husband laid himself down to sleep. The children went off to play, and I was left alone. For some time I watched the crabs playing in the water, or the tiny fish at the bottom of the pools, but the sweet scent of flowers came to me from the gardens of your world, borne on the light breeze, and I felt I must go and see what these flowers were like whose breath was so beautiful, for we have nothing like it in our dominions. Exquisite sea-plants we have, but they have no sweet perfume.

"Seeing that my husband was asleep, and the children quite happy and safe, I swam off to this sh.o.r.e, but when here I found I could not get near the flowers; I could see them on the tops of the cliffs far, far beyond my reach, so I thought I would rest here for a time, and dress my hair, while breathing in their sweetness.