Seven Frozen Sailors Part 17

After a bit, Gwen pulls out her pitch-pixie, and starts off with "Hail, smiling morn!"--a very proper ditty; then "Hop-a-derry-dando," "The Men of Harlech," and a lot more--we men singing tenor and ba.s.s to the girls'

treble voices.

Ah, lads! I think I bear that harmony roll away with the waterfall.

I've never forgotten it. The first storm in mid-ocean and the last song your love sings--these, my boys, are sounds which stick to your ears like barnacles to the bottom of a hulk, or limpets to the rocks on the sh.o.r.e.

In the middle of this sing-song, as you may call it, I spied Rhoda--who wouldn't so much as look or smile at me--whisper to her father, the old miller; and presently they both left. I wish now that I'd given them a stern chase, and boarded, like a bold buccaneer. But, you see, I couldn't rightly make out Rhoda's looks. Something was amiss. That I guessed. And I thought that the sky being so ugly and overcast, I'd better wait for the chance of clear weather on the morrow.

As soon as the singing was over, I saw that lubber David--who I could have kicked all the way to Dolgelly with pleasure, indeed--I saw him catch Gwen by the b.u.t.tonhole, and give her some sort of a tip. She looked earnestly at him, and smiled. Then she turned away, quite composed, indeed.

My lads, I can guess what it was that deceitful varmint said to his minx of a sister. They was laying a trap for me, the two of them. Ay! Yes, indeed! And they caught me, as clean as a shark a sailor's leg!

"Rhoda's got a bad headache," says Gwen, sidling up to me.

"How do you know?" asks I, none too civil, for I was downright savage with myself and every one else all round.

"She told me so," answered Gwen, as glib as an eel.

"I didn't see her speak to you," says I; nor did I, indeed.

"She complained of it this afternoon," remarked Gwen.

I didn't say no more. I was out of temper and out of sorts.

"Don't be angry with Rhoda!" whispers Gwen, quite kindly like. "She's as true as steel!"

My lads, them words were designed to play me like a fish with a bait; but they sounded so soft and consoling as to make me feel ashamed for my rudeness to this girl.

"Thank'ee, Gwen!" says I. "You're a good sort! I did hope to have told Rhoda of my luck to-night. But 'tain't to be, and I must just wait till to-morrow!"

"The news will do her a power of good," whispers Gwen, quite confidential. "Yes, indeed. David wanted to have her, but she won't wed aught but Hugh Anwyl; and when you've got your money, you know, her father will give his consent."

Now, you'd say, any man Jack of you, that these were fair and, to use a figure of speech, sisterly words. By George, lads! when I heard them, I caught hold of her hand and shook it hearty. It seemed to me that she was handling me better than I handled her.

"Gwen," says I, "I've plighted my troth to Rhoda Howell, so I won't offer to kiss you; but I do thank you, as a true friend to us both."

Bless you, you should have heard her laugh. It wasn't a clear, merry, innocent sort of laugh, like my poor Rhoda's, but a kind of a nasty sneer. It made me thrill again.

"I don't bear malice, Hugh Anwyl," she cries. "Not I! You and I were better friends before Rhoda came--that's all!"

I was just a little puzzled by her words. By now, however, she had gathered up her music, and began to walk away.

"Dear, dear!" she cried, as we got into the road which leads from Glanwern to Dolgelly; "why, I declare, it's quite dark indeed, and I've got to go to Llanbrecht to fetch some b.u.t.ter from Farmer Jenkins, and I'm deadly afeard to pa.s.s the Clwm Rock, because of Evan Dhu!"

You see, that we'd got a Davy Jones in them parts, a sort of a ghost.

The folks called it "Evan Dhu," or "Evan the Black."

Says I, quite quietly, "If you're afeard of Evan Dhu, why don't you ask David to go along with you?"

"He's out in the fields by now," she answers, "taking care of the calves."

"Wait till he's done with the calves, then," I observes, a-yawning.

Whereupon, dang me! if the girl didn't commence to whimper.

"Shiver my timbers, la.s.s!" cries I, "if you're that frightened of the ghost, dash me if I don't go with ye!"

This was just what this Jezebel wanted.

We walked together through the village of Glanwern, and I looked up anxiously at the windows of Miller Howell's house, if perchance, indeed, I might catch a glimpse of Rhoda. As we approached, I fancied I saw her face in the top garret window. Perhaps I didn't. Anyhow, it wasn't visible when we pa.s.sed.

We trudged on slowly through the silence of that mountainous district, our path lying through clefts and brushwood, till at length the black Clwm Rock towered in front of us, like a hideous monster, in the moonlight.

Suddenly I felt my arm gripped. The feeling, my lads--I give you the word of honour of an old sailor,--was so strange, that I imagined Evan Dhu had arrested me. Yes, indeed! It startled me. But I was in error.

It was not Evan Dhu. It was the false girl, Gwendoline Thomas.

"Ugh!" gasped she, as if she were terrified to hear the sound of her own voice,--"ugh! I saw him, _dear_ Hugh! Yes, indeed."

"What?--who?" I asked.

"Hush--hush!" she whispered. "Speak not another word! We are in peril!

He will kill us!"

"Don't be a fool, Gwen!" says I, unceremonious-like, for she was clinging to me quite desperate.

"Silence," she whispers, "or you'll provoke him! I tell you he is watching me! There--there!"--a-pointing with her hand at the rock.

I'll own that at that particular moment I felt rum indeed--especially when Gwen began to shake like an aspen, and seemed as if she'd fall down. To save her, I clasped her resolutely round the waist; and thus, with her head leaning on my shoulder, we pa.s.sed the dreaded Clwm Rock, the moon all the while shining full on us.

We had but just turned the corner toward Llanbrecht, when, I take my solemn oath, I heard a deep-drawn sigh!

"Run!" whispered Gwen. "_That's him_!"

My lads, we did run every step of the way to Llanbrecht: and when Farmer Jenkins heard our story, he had out his trap indeed, and drove us home, four miles round by the road, so that Gwen should not be frightened a second time.

"Don't talk about it," said Gwen; "folks will laugh."

"I'll tell Rhoda, and no one else," was my plain answer.

On the morrow I rose with the dawn, and ran round to the miller's door.

Every other day, for the past six months, Rhoda was out and about at that hour, scrubbing the steps or feeding the chickens. There was no Rhoda then; so I wended my way to "The Wynn Arms," Barmouth, where I waited for upward of four long hours. Then at last Evan Evans lurches up, a full three sheets in the wind, and as thick-headed as the thickest landsman.

Well, messmates, it took me a sight of time to see about that there kit.

Ye see, I hadn't too many shots in the locker, and wanted to do the thing cheap. But this lubber, Evan Evans, was more harm than good, having lost every atom of his tongue except the part that's constructed to do the swearing. That was lively enough, and woke up the storekeepers.

It was quite dusk before I returned to Glanwern, and I had, as you remember, to leave by daylight on the morrow. Now, indeed, thought I, the time has come when I must speak to Rhoda; so I marches for the third time boldly up to Miller Howell's door, and spies about for my poor dove, who I loved more than life.

The door, my boys, was shut, and locked, too; which, by the bye, ain't much of a custom in that part of North Wales, where "Taffy ain't a thief," and we can trust our neighbours as ourselves.

"Rhoda!" I calls out, quite gently, yet so as she must hear, unless she's out of the house, or gone deaf, indeed.