Original Penny Readings: A Series of Short Sketches

Chapter Seventeen.
Mephitic Fumes

I don’t believe that old well of ours would ever have been cleaned out if it had not been for the magpie, which, by the way, in its tame state is most decidedly as ill-conditioned, dishonest a bird as was ever fledged. Now of course a magpie does not seem to have much to do with a well; but as great oaks grow from little acorns, so do large matters grow out of very small causes.

Our magpie was kept under the impression that he would some day talk; but he never got any further than the monosyllable “Chark,” which with him meant as much as the Italian’s “Altro.” He could say the word plainly when he was six months old; and he could say no more when he was five years, and had achieved to a perpetual moult about the poll, which had the effect of making him look ten times more weird and artful than ever. He would say “chark” for everything, merely varying the key higher or lower according to the exigencies of the case. Goblin came into my possession in exchange for that piece of current money of the merchant called sixpence, which was given to a little, consequential, undersized, under-gardener at a neighbouring seat. This personage, who was known in the place as “my lord,” had early one morning scaled an elm-tree to take a magpie’s nest, but he was so unsuccessful as to secure only one bird – the Goblin in question.

He was a beauty was Goblin; if I believed in the doctrine of metempsychosis, I should say that his little body had been the receptacle of the immortal part of Jack Sheppard – Harrison Ainsworth’s Jack Sheppard; for a more mischievous, thieving scamp never held head on one side, leaped out of reach, after any amount of threatening, stared at you with a keen black eye, and cried “chark.” He was a bird that was always in a state of voracity, or pretended to be so, and dearly loved to hide scraps of meat in all sorts of out-of-the-way places, where he would punch them in, and then forget them; although they smelt loud enough to cause no end of complaints. He was a cleanly bird, too, in his habits, and always took advantage of Newfoundland Nero’s trough being filled with clean water to have a wash, sully the fount, and then hop shivering off to dry the plumage which stuck down to his sides.

So much for the magpie. The well was beneath the walnut-tree, and so close to it that from time to time large pieces of chalk had been pushed in by the roots that forced their way through the sides as if in search of moisture. It was an old, old well, sunk no one knew how many centuries before; but probably dug down out of the chalk, when the monks held the old priory which we tenanted in its modernised form. The old well was always an object of dread to me in childhood; and often have I stealthily crept up to the old green wood cover, dropped a pebble through the rope hole, and listened shudderingly to the hollow, echoing, vibrating sound that came quivering up after the plash. Even in maturer years the old well was one that would obtrude itself into dreams and offer suggestions of the horrors to be found within its depths, and the consequences of a fall to the bottom.

We only used the water for the garden, and hard work it used to be to turn the moss-covered windlass, and drag up the heavy bucket at the end of a hundred feet of rope, when up it came full of greeny-looking water, with some times a frog for passenger. To look down and listen to the hollow drip of the water was enough to make any one shudder, so profound seemed the depth to where a ring of light could be seen, and in spite of its depth, carved as it was right out of the solid chalk, there was never more than some seven or eight feet of water at the bottom, and that none of the cleanest.

Uncle Tom said it would be better filled up; a remark which found a most enthusiastic backer in the old gardener; but water even if green and discoloured was costly in those parts, and therefore the well was not filled up. While as to my uncle’s suggestion, to have it cleaned out, although most excellent, I was too deeply imbued with the Toryish ideas of letting things be as heretofore; and, therefore, the old gardener ground and ground at the old windlass, and the water still came up green; while, contrary to direct orders, the lid of the dangerous place was often left off.

Now, as before said, I don’t believe that old well of ours would ever have been cleaned out if it had not been for the magpie.

One day in summer I had been sitting dreamily trying to follow out some of the rather knotty thoughts in “Festus,” when on raising my eyes I caught sight of Goblin perched upon the little table in the bay window, and before I could move I had the pleasure of seeing him nimbly hook up my wife’s diminutive watch off the little stand, and then hop on to the window-sill, where I made a rush at him and nearly secured his spoil, for the thin chain caught in the Westeria twining round the window. In an instant, however, it had given way, and I had the satisfaction of seeing the little black and white miscreant alight on the gravel walk; and then after fixing the fragile timekeeper with his foot, begin to peck vigorously at the glass, which was shivered directly.

I hurried downstairs, for the window was too high for a jump; and as soon as I rushed to the door, Goblin gave utterance to his one syllable address, seized the watch, and went hopping along the path till he reached the well, where he perched upon the open lid; and as I stopped, half paralysed, and stooped to pick up a stone, Goblin made me a bow, raised his tail with a flick, and then to my horror he left hold of the watch, and I just reached the well in time to hear it, not say “tick,” but “splash,” while the thief hopped into the walnut-tree overhead.

This settled the matter; and two mornings after, a cart stopped at the gate, and Thomas Bore, well-sinker, arrived, accompanied by two labourers, for the purpose of nominally cleaning out the well, but really recovering the watch.

“Now, yer see, sir,” said Thomas Bore, leaning on the windlass and spitting down the well, of course, from habit, “yer see, sir, when we’ve done, this here water ’ll be clear as crischial. But all this here wood-wuck’s old-fashioned. Now I could fit yer up a fust-rate, double action, wheel crank forcer, as ’ud send the water a-flying up like a steam-engine.”

“Rather expensive,” I hinted.

“Mere trifle, sir. Fifty pun, at the outside.”

“Well, suppose we have the cleaning done first,” I said; and being rather timid over such matters, for fear of being persuaded, I turned upon my heel and fled to my breakfast.

Being of a fidgetty turn of mind, and liking to have my money’s worth for my money, I kept an eye upon the proceedings beneath the walnut-tree; and I found that the first two hours were taken up with sitting down, Indian fashion, for a palaver or consultation, during which, in a way of speaking, the trio felt the patient’s pulse – Goblin fitting in the walnut-tree to see how matters progressed.

The rest of the day was taken up with the removal of the old green windlass, and the fixing of one brought over for the purpose; and then two buckets having been flung, the windlass began to turn, and, very slowly, bucket after bucket of water was drawn up; and so eagerly did the men work, that at the end of three days the well was pronounced dry.

Now I had been reckoning that a couple of days would have sufficed for the job; and, therefore, felt disposed to stare when, on going out upon the fourth morning, I found the men still groaning over the task, so as to get out the water that had come in during the night. By noon, however, this was accomplished; when there followed another consultation, the theme being that the well was not safe.

I felt that I was in for it, and muttered to myself “Let well alone;” but it was too late now, so I grinned and bore my troubles – to wit, the very calm proceedings of the men whose united energies, tools, tackling, etc, were costing me at least a guinea per diem, while the well was as dirty as ever.

At last a candle was lit and attached to a piece of wire, the wire to a string, and then it was lowered so fast that before it had attained to two-thirds of the depth it was out.

“Ah,” said Mr Bore, wagging his head sagely; “werry foul indeed, sir; werry foul. We shall have to burn it out.”

This, I found, was accomplished by throwing down a quantity of straw, which was afterwards ignited by sending after it shovelfuls of hot cinders from the kitchen fire, and so making a blaze and a great deal of smoke; while this day passed over and no further progress was made.

The next morning I was out in good time, to the great disgust of Mr Bore, and by ten o’clock I had the satisfaction of seeing the water out once more.

“I ’spose one o’ my men can get a candle in the kitchen, sir,” said Mr Bore.

I signified assent, and then had the satisfaction of seeing the testing process gone through: the light going out before it reached the bottom, which I could not believe was from mephitic gas, though sworn to by Mr Bore, who proceeded to make another bonfire on the top of my wife’s watch, when I was called away, and did not go out again till half-past two, when I found that a man armed with a shovel had just stepped into one of the buckets, and the other man, who had a very red face, began, with the assistance of his master, to let him down.

“Is it all right, Dick?” said Mr Bore, when the man was about half down.

“Ah!” was the response, in a hollow voice; and then he was lowered, further and further, till he must have been near the bottom, when the rope shook; there was an evident loss of the load at the end; and I must confess to a shudder of horror going through me, as a dull, plashing thud came from the depths of the well.

Bore looked at me, and I at him, for a few seconds in silence, when the other man spun round the now light windlass till the other bucket rose.

“Here, lay hold o’ this here,” he cried to me; and from the readiness to obey felt by all in an emergency, I seized the windlass and assisted his master to let him down, as he thrust one leg through the pail-handle and was soon out of sight, for we lowered him down as fast as was possible.

“I’m blowed if there won’t be a coroner’s inquess over this job,” panted Mr Bore, as he turned away at his handle; “I know’d it warn’t safe, only he would go.”

“For goodness sake, turn quicker man,” I cried; and at last, after what seemed ten minutes at least, the empty bucket rose.

“Now, then,” I shouted down the well, “tie the rope round him, quick, and then hang on.”

No answer.

“Do you hear there?” I cried again, with a horrid dread coming over me that the catastrophe was to be doubled; but at last a dull, “All right,” came echoing up.

As for Bore, he sat there upon his handle looking the colour of dough. I saw at once there was no help to be expected from him, so I shouted to one of the maids, and in a few minutes my wife and half a dozen neighbours, male and female, were standing, pale and horror-stricken, around the well.

In the mean time I had tried again and again to rouse the last man down, but could get nothing but a sort of half-stifled “All right;” while at last even that was not forthcoming, nothing but a hollow stertorous groan at intervals.

Brown, a stout young fellow, wanted to go down; but I stopped him, and in a few seconds had our own well-rope secured round my waist, after giving it a twist on the windlass; and then having seen the handles in the hands of trusty men, I stepped into the bucket and prepared to descend, feeling compelled to go, but all the while in a state of the most horrible fear imaginable, for I always was from a boy a sad coward.

“Oh! don’t; pray don’t go, Fred,” whispered my wife, as she clung to me.

“I must, I must, darling,” I whispered again. “It would be worse than murder to let the poor fellows lie there when a little exertion would save them.”

“Oh! for my sake, don’t, pray;” and then the poor little woman staggered, and would have fallen down the well if I had not caught her in my arms; when we should both have fallen but for the rope round my waist, which fortunately stood the strain, but cut into my ribs fearfully.

There were plenty of hands, though, ready to assist, and the poor fainting girl was borne into the house.

“Now then,” I cried, “lower gently; and the moment I stop crying out ‘Right’ haul up again, for there will be something wrong.”

The windlass creaked and groaned, and then all at once the people round the well seemed to give a jump upwards, and then were gone, while the green, slimy sides of the pit were running up past me as I seemed to stand still in the well-sinker’s broad oak bucket. For a moment I clung to the rope with my eyes shut, when all at once there was a bump, and I opened them to see that I was ascending.

“Right, right,” I shouted, when there was another jerk, and I began to descend again, at intervals crying out the word of safety – ‘Right’; and so I went down and down, with my flesh creeping, and a strange sensation, as though I was falling rapidly through space.

I have no doubt there are plenty of men who would be heroes at proper time and place; but there is no heroic stuff in my composition, for I here boldly assert that I never felt so horribly frightened before in my life, as I went gliding down lower and lower past the green slimy chalk, with the bucket swinging terribly from side to side; for the well was of very large diameter. I kept on giving the signal, and have no idea how it sounded above, but it seemed to me as though it left my lips in the shape of a gasping sob.

Still down, down, with the horrid feeling of falling, and a holding of the breath. The depth seemed awful; and now, though doubly secured, I trembled for the safety of the ropes, and turned giddy and closed my eyes.

“Is it all right?” shouted a voice from above, and my descent stopped.

“Yes, yes,” I shouted, recovering myself; but I could not say “Go on”; for, to my shame I say it, I hoped they would have drawn me up.

But, no; down, down, lower and lower. And now I began to smell the burnt, smoky air, but could still breathe freely, and tried to nerve myself to be on the watch for the strata of foul gas into which I felt I must be descending.

“Right, right,” I kept shouting; and still down, lower and lower, till it seemed that there could be no bottom; while the bucket kept turning round till it was impossible to keep from feeling giddy. And now in one swing from side to side, the bucket struck the wall, which gave me a new cause for alarm, and when nearing it again, I put out my hand and touched the cold slippery side, when I shuddered more than ever.

It did not seem dark: but of a peculiar gloomy aspect, a good deal of which was due, no doubt, to the smoke of the burnt straw.

“Right, right,” I shouted, still breathing freely, till the bucket reached the bottom, when I stepped hastily out, and, looking up the well, untwined the two ropes, and grasped the man nearest to me, who was sitting upon the half-burnt straw with which the bottom was covered; while the other stood staring at me as he leaned up against the wall, over his knees in the slime of the bottom.

I could feel no holding of the breath; no stifling or sleepy sensation; nothing but horrible fear; as I hastily slipped the rope over my head and secured it with a noose round the poor fellow, whose arm I grasped. I trembled as I did so, for it seemed like throwing away my own safeguard. But in a moment more I stepped in the bucket and yelled out – “Up, up, quickly.”

The rope tightened, and we began to rise; and as we did so I shouted to the poor fellow we were leaving – “Back for you directly.”

He stared at me with, glassy eyes, but remained immoveable; and I felt my courage rise as we grew less and less distant from the light of heaven. The ropes twisted and turned, but we rose rapidly, and as the windlass creaked and groaned I could hear the voices above cheering, and I responded with a faint “hurrah.” But directly after the fear came upon me again – “Suppose the rope should break!” It did not, though; but I nearly left go of the stout hemp with the effects of the tremor which seized me. But now the cheers grew louder, and at last our heads rose above the sides, when a dozen hands laid hold of us, and we were on terra firma once more.

“Here, drink this,” cried a voice; and a glass of brandy was pushed into my hand. It was nectar indeed.

“Now,” cried young Brown, “I’ll fetch this one up.”

“No,” said I, sternly, “I’ll go; for I can stand the foul air.”

The ropes were arranged, and directly after I was again descending; and this time the dread did not seem so oppressive, for I did not feel such horror of the mephitic gas at the bottom, since it seemed to me that the excitement – the state of my nerves – sustained me, and I shouted to them to lower faster.

On reaching the bottom, the man had not moved his position, and without leaving the bucket, to whose rope I had bound myself with a silk handkerchief I slipped off the noose again, and secured it round the other’s body.

The same glassy, dull stare – the same immobility of countenance – the same corpse-like aspect as seen in the gloom, and then, with a cry of wild joy, I shrieked – “Up; up;” but it seemed as though we should never reach the surface as we swung and spun about, and once, to my horror, I saw the rope was slipping over the man’s shoulders; and it was only by clasping him tightly in my arms I saved him from falling.

Daylight and willing hands at length; and then I staggered as I was unfastened, and all seemed to swim round as I fainted away.

On coming to I found myself on the grass by the side of the two men, who were alive, as I could hear by their stertorous breathing. Kneeling by me was old Dr Scott, looking up at Brown, who had evidently just spoken.

“Mephitic air, sir,” said the doctor, “pooh; as drunk as Pharaoh’s sow!”

The well was finally cleaned out, and the recovered watch as well; while, by way of consolation for my misapplied energy, I could congratulate myself upon the discovery of a hidden vein of philanthropy in my constitution.

Chapter Eighteen.
On the Great Deep

The creaking and groaning of the timbers, the tossing and plunging of the ship, and the heavy beating of the waves upon her sides, tended to drive away sleep, without the accessories of pale and anxious faces, wringing hands, and here and there a kneeling form and supplicating murmur. Now and then came a heavy crash, and the good ship shook and quivered beneath the tons of water poured sweeping along the deck; and once the news was somehow circulated among the helpless passengers, that three of the sailors had been swept overboard, and that the life-buoy, with its blazing light, had been cut adrift, when as it floated away, a man was seen clinging to it, with the glare shining upon his pale and agonised face. And we knew that it was but to prolong his torture, for in such a storm no boat could go to his aid – that he would cling there for a while, and then would come the end.

It was a fearful night, and, one and all, we thought of the words of the Psalmist. We who had come down to the sea were seeing His wonders; and now we thought of the utter insignificance – the littleness – the helplessness of man in the grand strife of the elements. With all man’s skill, with all his ingenuity in building, our barque seemed frail, and but a few slight planks to save us from death – from being cast away upon the further shore; and but for the knowledge of One mighty to save, who held the seas in the hollow of His hand, at such a time despair would have swept over us as a flood. Homeward bound, we had left the sunny shores of the Austral land, with a fair wind, and for the past fortnight the thoughts of the old country had grown stronger in us day by day. I saw again the sweet old hills of Surrey, and looked in fancy, as I had in reality, half a score years before, over many a rounded knoll glowing with the golden blossoms of the furze; then at the hill-side and hollow, brown and purple with the heath; and then again at fir-crowned sandy heights, relieved by verdant patches of cultivated land.

Home, sweet home; dearer than ever when distant, and in spite of success, and the prodigality of my adopted land, it was with swelling heart, and even tear-dimmed eyes, that I thought of the old country that I had left in poverty, but was returning to in wealth.

Over the bright dancing waters we sped, night and day, ever onward across the trackless waste. Seeing the watch set night by night, and then seeking my cot with the feeling stronger and stronger upon me of how completely we are in the hands of our Maker, and how slight a barrier is all our care and watchfulness against the power of the elements.

Farther south we sailed, and the weather grew colder, and at last, one night, with a howl and a roar, as if raging at us for daring to intrude upon its domains, the storm came down and shrieked in the rigging. But we had a staunch man for captain, and he had made his arrangements in time, for he had seen the enemy coming, and prepared to battle with him. I stood holding on by the bulwarks, and watched the masts bend, and the shrouds upon one side tighten as upon the other they bellied out beneath the fury of the gale. There was not a cloud to be seen overhead, but all keen and bright starlight; while instead of burning brightly and clearly, the various orbs seemed to quiver and tremble as the tremendously agitated atmosphere swept between earth and sky. As for the waves, they were changed in a moment from inky blackness to white churned foam, as the gale swept over them, tearing away the spray, and drenching all upon deck.

“Are we in danger?” I said to the captain, as he came and stood close by me.

“Well,” he said, almost shouting, so great was the force of the wind, “I always consider we’re in danger from the day we leave port till we cast anchor again, but I do my best, and hope for the best.”

Then the thought came upon me as I listened to the tremendous din around, that we should never see land again; and a dreadful feeling of despair seemed to take possession of my spirit, for standing there helpless and inactive was so oppressive at such a time. If I could have been busy, and toiled hard, it would have been different; for then the feeling that I was of some service would have cheered me on, while the thought of standing still and drowning, without an effort to save life, was fearful.

And now it was the second night, and the piercing gale blowing harder than ever. Three men lost, and the rest worn-out, anxious, and numbed with the cold. I could not stay below, for the scene was awful, and at last gladly crawled on deck at the risk of being swept overboard. There were two poor fellows lashed to the wheel, and every few minutes I could see the captain there, evidently whispering words of encouragement, and truly they were needed at such a time. All around, the waves seemed to be rising about us as if to overwhelm the ship and bear her down, and in spite of every care upon the captain’s part, now and then down came a huge volume of water upon the deck, over which it seemed to curl, and then rushed along, sweeping everything before it. Two boats had gone, and a great piece of the bulwark been swept away as though of cardboard; and yet, in spite of all, the captain appeared to be as cool and quiet as if we were in a calm.

Once only did he seem moved, and that was when one of the sailors came up from below and whispered to him, but he was himself again in an instant; the hatches were already secured with tarpaulins over them, but I soon understood the new danger; for the pumps were rigged, and turn and turn, sailors and passengers, we worked at them to lighten the ship of the water, which was creeping snakelike in at many a strained seam.

But few of us knew, as the gale slowly abated, how narrow an escape we had had, but the shrunken crew, and the torn bulwarks showed but too plainly how sharp had been the tussle; and yet before long all seemed forgotten, and we were gently parting the waters with a light breeze astern bearing us homeward.

Young people form very romantic notions as to the wonders to be seen in travelling; and all such castle-builders must be sadly disappointed in the incidents and sights presented by a long sea voyage. The deep blue sea is certainly beautiful, and it is interesting to watch the fish playing below the ship’s keel, far down in the clear water; the sunrise and sunset, too, are very glorious, when ship and rigging seem to be turned to gold, and the sea, far as the eye can reach, one mass of glorious molten metal, gently heaving, or here and there broken by a ripple. But day after day the same monotony: no change; nothing but sea and sky, far as the eye could reach, and in the deep silence of the mighty ocean there is something awe-imposing and oppressive to the spirit. I had seen it in its wildest mood, and when the waves lightly danced and sparkled; and now, one day, when the voyage was about half over, came a calm, with the sun beating down day by day with a fervent heat that rendered the iron-work of the ship too hot to be touched, while the pitch grew soft in every seam. The sea just gently heaved, but there was not the slightest breath of air to fan our cheeks, and sailors and captain walked impatiently about waiting for the coming breeze, which should take us farther upon our way.

We were about four hundred miles, I suppose, from the nearest land, and for days the only thing that had taken our attention was the occasional ripple made by a shoal of fish, or the slow, sailing, gliding flight of a huge albatross, seeming in its sluggish way to float up and down in the air, as though upon a series of inclined planes.

I was standing one afternoon beneath the awning, talking to the captain, when one of the men aloft announced a boat on the lee bow.

“What is she?” said the captain.

“Boat or canoe, sir,” said the man.

“Any one in her?” said the captain.

“Can’t see a soul, sir,” said the man.

Well, this was a change, to break the monotony. A boat was soon manned and put off, with both the captain and myself in the sternsheets; and then the men bent to their oars and rowed in the direction pointed out.

Before long we could see the canoe, for such it proved to be, lightly rising and falling upon the gentle swell; but it seemed unoccupied, and we rowed on till we were close up, but still no one showed.

At last the bow-man stood up with his boat-hook; and, as we closed up, laid hold of the light bark canoe, and drew it alongside. But it was not unoccupied.

There in the bottom, with fish that he had caught lying by him, in company with a spear and several fishing-lines and roughly-made hooks, was the owner of the canoe – a fine-looking, dusky-hued, half-clad savage, lying as though asleep, but quite dead – evidently from want of water; for there were fish enough in the canoe to have sustained life for some days.

To judge from appearances, it seemed that the poor fellow had either been borne out by some powerful current, or blown off the shore by one of the gales which sweep down from the coast; and in imagination I could paint the despair of the poor wretch toiling with his paddle to regain the land which held all that was dear to him. Toiling in his frail skiff beneath the fervour of the tropic sun, and toiling in vain till faint with the heat and parched with thirst, with the bright and sparkling water leaping murmuringly round, till exhausted he fell back, with the dull film of despair gathering on his eyes, and sank into a dreamy stupor filled with visions of home, green trees waving, and the gurgling of a stream through a cocoa-grove. Then to wake once more with renewed energy – to paddle frantically for the dim coastline; but still to find that his unaided efforts were useless, and that every minute he was farther away from the wished-for goal. Only a savage – untutored, unlettered; but yet a man made in God’s own image, and with the same passions as ourselves. Only a savage – and yet in his calm, deep sleep, noble, and lordly of aspect; and there he lay, with all around him placed orderly and neatly, and it seemed that, after that wild struggle for life, when nature prompts, and every pulse beats anxiously to preserve that great gift of the Creator – it seemed that he had quietly, calmly, let us say, too, hopefully – for dark is the savage mind indeed that has not some rays of light and belief in a great overruling Spirit – hopefully lain him down in the bottom of the canoe and gone to sleep.

There was not a man there, from the captain to the roughest sailor, but spoke in an under-tone in the presence of the remains of that poor savage; for now they were by the sacred dead – far away upon the mighty ocean, solemn in its calm, with the sun sinking to his rest, and sending a path of glory across the otherwise trackless waters – the sky glowing with his farewell rays, and everywhere silence, not even the sigh of the gale or the gentle lapping of the water against the boat.

I started as the captain gave the order to give way; and then found that the canoe was made fast, and slowly towed back to the ship, where it was hoisted on board.

An hour afterwards we were all assembled on deck, and bareheaded. The unclouded moon was nearly at the full, and shone brightly upon the scene, for in the latitudes where we then were night follows quickly upon sunset. Sewn up in a piece of sailcloth, and resting upon a plank, was the body of the poor savage; while taking their cue from the captain, sailors and passengers stood grouped around, silent and grave, as though the calm sleeping form had been that of a dear companion and friend.

Not another sound was heard, as in a deep, impressive voice the captain commenced reading the service for the burial of the dead. Solemn and touching at all times, but doubly so now, far out in the midst of the great wilderness of waters; and, besides, there was something mournful in the poor fellow’s fate, which made its way to the hearts of even the rudest seaman present.