Chapter 3

Morning came at last, and with the first grey light the storm had
spent its fury. By degrees my mother had grown calmer, and was now
sleeping peacefully upon her bed, worn out with the passion of her
terror. I had long ago dressed; but even had I wished to sleep
again, curiosity to know the meaning of that awful cry would have
been too strong for me. So, as soon as I saw that my mother was
asleep, I took my boots in my hand and crept downstairs. The kitchen
looked so ghostly in the dim light, that I had almost resolved to
give up my plan and go back, but reflected that it behoved me to play
the man, if only to be able to cheer mother when I came back.
So, albeit with my heart in my mouth, I drew back the bolt--that
surely, for all my care, never creaked so loudly before or since--and
stepped out into the cool air. The fresh breeze that smote my cheeks
as I sat down outside to put on my boots brought me back to the
everyday world--a world that seemed to make the events of the night
unreal and baseless, so that I had, with boyish elasticity of temper,
almost forgotten all fear as I began to descend the cliff towards
Ready-Money Cove.

Before I go any further, it will be necessary to describe in a few
words that part of the coast which is the scene of my story.
Lantrig, as I have said, looks down upon Ready-Money Cove from the
summit of Pedn-glas, its northern arm. The cove itself is narrow,
running in between two scarred and rugged walls of serpentine, and
terminating in a little beach of whitest sand beneath a frowning and
precipitous cliff. It is easy to see its value in the eyes of
smugglers, for not only is the cove difficult of observation from the
sea, by reason of its straitness and the protection of its projecting
arms, but the height and abruptness of its cliffs also give it
seclusion from the land side. For Pedn-glas on the north rises sheer
from the sea, sloping downwards a little as it runs in to join the
mainland, but only enough to admit of a rough and winding path at its
inmost point, while to the south the cove is guarded by a strange
mass of rock that demands a somewhat longer description.

For some distance the cliff ran out as on the north side, but,
suddenly breaking off as if cleft by some gigantic stroke, left a
gloomy column of rock, attached to it only by an isthmus that stood
some six or seven feet above high-water mark. This separate mass
went by the name of Dead Man's Rock--a name dark and dreadful enough,
but in its derivation innocent, having been but Dodmen, or "the stony
headland," until common speech perverted it. For this reason I
suppose I ought not to call it Dead Man's Rock, the "Rock" being
superfluous, but I give it the name by which it has always been
known, being to a certain extent suspicious of those antiquarian
gentlemen that sometimes, in their eagerness to restore a name, would
deface a tradition.

Let me return to the rock. Under the neck that joins it to the main
cliff there runs a natural tunnel, which at low water leads to the
long expanse of Polkimbra Beach, with the village itself lying snugly
at its further end; so that, standing at the entrance of this curious
arch, one may see the little town, with the purple cliffs behind
framed between walls of glistening serpentine. The rock is always
washed by the sea, except at low water during the spring tides,
though not reaching out so far as Pedn-glas. In colour it is mainly
black as night, but is streaked with red stains that bear an awful
likeness to blood; and, though it may be climbed--and I myself have
done it more than once in search of eggs--it has no scrap of
vegetation save where, upon its summit, the gulls build their nests
on a scanty patch of grass and wild asparagus.

By the time I had crossed the cove, the western sky was brilliant
with the reflected dawn. Above the cliffs behind, morning had edged
the flying wrack of indigo clouds with a glittering line of gold,
while the sea in front still heaved beneath the pale yellow light, as
a child sobs at intervals after the first gust of passion is
over-past. The tide was at the ebb, and the fresh breeze dropped as
I got under the shadow of Dead Man's Rock and looked through the
archway on to Polkimbra Sands.

Not a soul was to be seen. The long stretch of beach had scarcely
yet caught the distinctness of day, but was already beginning to
glisten with the gathering light, and, as far as I could see, was
desolate. I passed through and clambered out towards the south side
of the rock to watch the sea, if perchance some bit of floating
wreckage might explain the mystery of last night. I could see
nothing.

Stay! What was that on the ledge below me, lying on the brink just
above the receding wave? A sailor's cap! Somehow, the sight made me
sick with horror. It must have been a full minute before I dared to
open my eyes and look again. Yes, it was there! The cry of last
night rang again in my ears with all its supreme agony as I stood in
the presence of this silent witness of the dead--this rag of clothing
that told so terrible a history.

Child as I was, the silent terror of it made me faint and giddy.
I shut my eyes again, and clung, all trembling, to the ledge.
Not for untold bribes could I have gone down and touched that
terrible thing, but, as soon as the first spasm of fear was over, I
clambered desperately back and on to the sands again, as though all
the souls of the drowned were pursuing me.

Once safe upon the beach, I recovered my scattered wits a little.
I felt that I could not repass that dreadful rock, so determined to
go across the sands to Polkimbra, and homewards around the cliffs.
Still gazing at the sea as one fascinated, I made along the length of
the beach. The storm had thrown up vast quantities of weed, that
lined the water's edge in straggling lines and heaps, and every heap
in turn chained and riveted my shuddering eyes, that half expected to
see in each some new or nameless horror.

I was half across the beach, when suddenly I looked up towards
Polkimbra, and saw a man advancing towards me along the edge of the
tide.

He was about two hundred yards from me when I first looked. Heartily
glad to see any human being after my great terror, I ran towards him
eagerly, thinking to recognise one of my friends among the Polkimbra
fishermen. As I drew nearer, however, without attracting his
attention--for the soft sand muffled all sound of footsteps--two
things struck me. The first was that I had never seen a fisherman
dressed as this man was; the second, that he seemed to watch the sea
with an absorbed and eager gaze, as if expecting to find or see
something in the breakers. At last I was near enough to catch the
outline of his face, and knew him to be a stranger.

He wore no hat, and was dressed in a red shirt and trousers that
ended in rags at the knee. His feet were bare, and his clothes clung
dripping to his skin. In height he could not have been much above
five feet six inches, but his shoulders were broad, and his whole
appearance, cold and exhausted as he seemed, gave evidence of great
strength. His tangled hair hung over a somewhat weak face, but the
most curious feature about the man was the air of nervous expectation
that marked, not only his face, but every movement of his body.
Altogether, under most circumstances, I should have shunned him, but
fear had made me desperate. At the distance of about twenty yards I
stopped and called to him.

I had advanced somewhat obliquely from behind, so that at the sound
of my voice he turned sharply round and faced me, but with a
terrified start that was hard to account for. On seeing only a
child, however, the hesitation faded out of his eyes, and he advanced
towards me. As he approached, I could see that he was shivering with
cold and hunger.

"Boy," he said, in an eager and expectant voice, "what are you doing
out on the beach so early?"

"Oh, sir!" I answered, "there was such a dreadful storm last night,
and we--that is, mother and I--heard a cry, we thought; and oh!
I have seen--"

"What have you seen?"--and he caught me by the arm with a nervous
grip.

"Only a cap, sir," I said, shrinking--"only a cap; but I climbed up
on Dead Man's Rock just now--the rock at the end of the beach--and I
saw a cap lying there, and it seemed--"

"Come along and show it to me!" and he began to run over the sands
towards the rock, dragging me helpless after him.

Suddenly he stopped.

"You saw nothing else?" he asked, facing round and looking into my
eyes.

"No, sir."

"Nor anybody?"

"Nobody, sir."

"You are sure you saw nobody but me? You didn't happen to see a tall
man with black hair, and rings in his ears?"

"Oh, no, sir."

"You'll swear you saw no such man? Swear it now; say, 'So help me,
God, I haven't seen anybody on the beach but you.'"

I swore it.

"Say, 'Strike me blind if I have!'"

I repeated the words after him, and, with a hurried look around, he
set off running again towards the rock. I had much ado to keep from
tumbling, and even from crying aloud with pain, so tight was his
grip. Fast as we went, the man's teeth chattered and his limbs
shook; his wet clothes flapped and fluttered in the cold morning
breeze; his face was drawn and pinched with exhaustion, but he never
slackened his pace until we reached Dead Man's Rock. Here he stopped
and looked around again.

"Is there any place to hide in hereabouts?" he suddenly asked.

The oddness of the question took me aback: and, indeed, the whole
conduct of the man was so strange that I was heartily frightened, and
longed greatly to run away. There was no help for it, however, so I
made shift to answer--

"There is a nice cave in Ready-Money Cove, which is the next cove to
this, sir. The smugglers used to use it because it was hidden so,
but--"

I suppose my eyes told him that I was wondering why he should want to
hide, for he broke in again--

"Well, show me this cap. Out on the face of this rock, you say--
what's the name? Dead Man's Rock, eh? Well, it's an ugly name
enough, and an ugly rock enough!" he added, with a shiver.

I climbed up the rock, and he after me, until we gained the ledge
where I had stood before. I looked down. The cap was still lying
there, and the tide had ebbed still further.

My companion looked for a moment, then, with a short cry, scrambled
quickly down and picked it up. To me it had looked like any ordinary
sailor's cap, but he examined it, fingered it, and pulled it about,
muttering all the time, so that I imagined it must be his own, though
at a loss to know why he made so much of recovering it. At last he
climbed up again, holding it in his hands, and still muttering to
himself--

"His cap, sure enough; nothing in it, though. But he was much too
clever a devil. However, he's gone right enough; I knew he must, and
this proves it, curse him! Well, I'll wear it. He's not left behind
as much as he thought, but mad enough he'd be to think I was his
heir. I'll wear it for old acquaintance' sake. Sit down, boy," he
said aloud to me; "we're safe here, and can't be seen. I want to
talk with you."

The rocky ledge on which we stood was about seven feet long and three
or four in breadth. On one side of it ran down the path by which we
had ascended; the other end broke off with a sheer descent into the
sea of some forty feet in the present state of the tide. High above
us rose an unscaleable cliff; at our feet lay a short descent to the
ledge on which the cap had rested, and after that another precipice.
It was not a pleasant position in which to be left alone with this
strange companion, but I was helpless, and perhaps the trace of
weakness and a something not altogether evil in his face, gave me
some courage. Little enough it was, however, and in mere desperation
I sat down on the side by the path. My companion flung himself down
on the other side, with his legs dangling over the ledge, and so sat
for a minute or two watching the sea.

The early sun was now up, and its oblique rays set the waves dancing
with a myriad points of fire. Above us the rock cast its shadow into
the green depths below, making them seem still greener and deeper.
To my left I could see the shining sands of Polkimbra, still
desolate, and, beyond, the purple line of cliffs towards Kynance; on
my right the rock hid everything from view, except the open sea and
the gulls returning after the tempest to inspect and pry into the
fresh masses of weed and wreckage. I looked timidly at my companion.
He was still gazing out towards the sea, apparently deep in thought.
The cap was on his head, and his legs still dangled, while he
muttered to himself as if unconscious of my presence. Presently,
however, he turned towards me.

"Got anything to eat?"

I had forgotten it in my terror, but I had, as I crossed the kitchen,
picked up a hunch of bread to serve me for breakfast. This, with a
half-apologetic air, as if to deprecate its smallness, I produced
from my pocket and handed to him. He snatched it without a word, and
ate it ravenously, keeping his eye fixed upon me in the most
embarrassing way.

"Got any more?"

I was obliged to confess I had not, though sorely afraid of
displeasing him. He turned still further towards me, and stared
without a word, then suddenly spoke again.

"What is your name?"

Truly this man had the strangest manner of questioning. However, I
answered him duly--

"Jasper Trenoweth."

"God in heaven! What?"

He had started forward, and was staring at me with a wild surprise.
Unable to comprehend why my name should have this effect on him, but
hopeless of understanding this extraordinary man's behaviour, I
repeated the two words.

His face had turned to an ashy white, but he slowly took his eyes off
me and turned them upon the sea, almost as though afraid to meet
mine. There was a pause.

"Father by any chance answering to the name of Ezekiel--Ezekiel
Trenoweth?"

Even in my fright I can remember being struck with this strange way
of speaking, as though my father were a dog; but a new fear had
gained possession of me. Dreading to hear the answer, yet wildly
anxious, I cried--

"Oh, yes. Do you know him? He was coming home from Ceylon, and
mother was so anxious; and then, what with the storm last night and
the cry that we heard, we were so frightened! Oh! do you know
--do you think--"

My words died away in terrified entreaty; but he seemed not to hear
me. Still gazing out on the sea, he said--

"Sailed in the _Belle Fortune_, barque of 600 tons, or thereabouts,
bound for Port of Bristol? Oh, ay, I knew him--knew him well.
And might this here place be Lantrig?"

"Our house is on the cliff above the next cove," I replied.
"But, oh! please tell me if anything has happened to him!"

"And why should anything have happened to Ezekiel Trenoweth?
That's what I want to know. Why should anything have happened to
him?"

He was still watching the waves as they danced and twinkled in the
sun. He never looked towards me, but plucked with nervous fingers at
his torn trousers. The gulls hovered around us with melancholy
cries, as they wheeled in graceful circles and swooped down to their
prey in the depths at our feet. Presently he spoke again in a
meditative, far-away voice--

"Ezekiel Trenoweth, fair, broad, and six foot two in his socks; why
should anything have happened to him?"

"But you seem to know him, and know the ship he sailed in. Tell me--
please tell me what has happened. Did you sail in the same ship?
And, if so, what has become of it?"

"I sailed," said my companion, still examining the horizon, "from
Ceylon on the 12th of July, in the ship _Mary Jane_, bound for
Liverpool. Consequently, if Ezekiel Trenoweth sailed in the _Belle
Fortune_ we couldn't very well have been in the same ship, and that's
logic," said he, turning to me for the first time with a watery and
uncertain smile, but quickly withdrawing his eyes to their old
occupation.

But he had lifted a great load from my heart, so that for very joy at
knowing my father was not among the crew of the _Mary Jane_ I could
not speak for a time, but sat watching his face, and thinking how I
should question him next.

"Sailed in the _Mary Jane_, bound for Liverpool," he repeated, his
face twitching slightly, and his hands still plucking at his
trousers, "sailed along with--never mind who. And this boy's Ezekiel
Trenoweth's son, and I knew him; knew him well." His voice was
husky, and he seemed to have something in his throat, but he went on:
"Well, it's a strange world. To think of him being dead!" looking at
the cap--which he had taken off his head.

"What! Father dead?"

"No, my lad, t'other chap: him as this cap belonged to. Ah, he was a
devil, he was. Can't fancy him dead, somehow; seemed as though the
water wasn't made as could have drowned him; always said he was born
for the gallows, and joked about it. But he's gone this time, and
I've got his cap. 'Tis a hard thought that I should outlive him;
but, curse him, I've done it, and here's his cap for proof--why, what
the devil is the lad staring at?"

During his muttered soliloquy I had turned for a moment to look
across Polkimbra Beach, when suddenly my eyes were arrested and my
heart again set violently beating by a sight that almost made me
doubt whether the events of the morning were not still part of a wild
and disordered dream. For there, at about fifty yards' distance, and
advancing along the breakers' edge, was another man, dressed like my
companion, and also watching the sea.

"What's the matter, boy? Speak, can't you?"

"It's a man."

"A man! Where?"

He made a motion forwards to look over the edge, but checked himself,
and crouched down close against the rock.

"Lie down!" he murmured in a hoarse whisper. "Lie down low and look
over."

My arm was clutched as though by a vice. I sank down flat, and
peered over the edge.

"It's a man," I said, "not fifty yards off, and coming this way.
He has on a red shirt, and is watching the sea just as you did.
I don't think that he saw us."

"For the Lord's sake don't move. Look; is he tall and dark?"

His terrified excitement was dreadful. I thought I should have had
to shriek with pain, so tightly he clutched me, but found voice to
answer--

"Yes, he seems tall, and dark too, though I can't well see at--"

"Has he got earrings?"

"I can't see; but he walks with a stoop, and seems to have a sword or
something slung round his waist."

"God defend us! that's he! Curse him, curse him! Lie down--lie
down, I say! It's death if he catches sight of us."

We cowered against the rock. My companion's face was livid, and his
lips worked as though fingers were plucking at them, but made no
sound. I never saw such abject, hopeless terror. We waited thus for
a full minute, and then I peered over the ledge again.

He was almost directly beneath us now, and was still watching the
sea. At his side hung a short sheath, empty. I could not well see
his face, but the rings in his ears glistened in the sunlight.

I drew back cautiously, for my companion was plucking at my jacket.

"Listen," he said--and his hoarse voice was sunk so low that I could
scarcely catch his words--"Listen. If he catches us it's death--
death to me, but perhaps he may let you off, though he's a
cold-blooded, murderous devil. However, there's no saying but you
might get off. Any way, it'll be safest for you to have this.
Here, take it quick, and stow it away in your jacket, so as he can't
see it. For the love of God, look sharp!"

He took something out of a pocket inside his shirt, and forced it
into my hands. What it was I could not see, so quickly he made me
hide it in my jacket. But I caught a glimpse of something that
looked like brass, and the packet was hard and heavy.

"It's death, I say; but you may be lucky. If he does for me, swear
you'll never give it up to him. Take your Bible oath you'll never do
that. And look here: if I'm lucky enough to get off, swear you'll
give it back. Swear it. Say, 'Strike me blind!'"

He clutched me again. Shaking and trembling, I gave the promise.

"And look, here's a letter; put it away and read it after. If he
does for me--curse him!--you keep what I've given you. Yes, keep it;
it's my last Will and Testament, upon my soul. But you ought to go
half shares with little Jenny; you ought, you know. You'll find out
where she lives in that there letter. But you'll never give it up to
him. Swear it. Swear it again."

Again I promised.

"Mind you, if you do, I'll haunt you. I'll curse you dying, and
that's an awful thing to happen to a man. Look over again.
He mayn't be coming--perhaps he'll go through to the next beach, and
then we'll run for it."

Again I peered over, but drew back as if shot; for just below me was
a black head with glittering earrings, and its owner was steadily
coming up the path towards us.