Drolls From Shadowland

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  _The Man who could talk with the Birds_]

  DROLLS

  FROM SHADOWLAND

  BY

  J. H. PEARCE

  _Author of "Esther Pentreath," "Inconsequent Lives," "Jaco Treloar,"&c._

  NEW YORK MACMILLAN AND CO. 1893.

  _All rights reserved._

  CONTENTS.

  PAGE

  THE MAN WHO COINED HIS BLOOD INTO GOLD 1

  AN UNEXPECTED JOURNEY 15

  THE MAN WHO COULD TALK WITH THE BIRDS 27

  THE PURSUIT 39

  A PLEASANT ENTERTAINMENT 49

  THE MAN WHO DESIRED TO BE A TREE 61

  THE MAN WHO HAD SEEN 73

  THE UNCHRISTENED CHILD 85

  THE MAN WHO MET HATE 95

  THE HAUNTED HOUSE 109

  GIFTS AND AWARDS 119

  FRIEND OR FOE? 133

  THE FIELDS OF AMARANTH 145

  THE COMEDY OF A SOUL 155

  THE MAN WHO COINED HIS BLOOD INTO GOLD.

  THE yoke of Poverty galled him exceedingly, and he hated histaskmistress with a most rancorous hatred.

  As he climbed up or down the dripping ladders, descending from sollar tosollar towards the level where he worked, he would set his teeth grimlythat he might not curse aloud--an oath underground being an invitationto the Evil One--but in his heart the muffled curses were audibleenough. And when he was at work in the dreary level, with the darknesslying on his shoulder like a hand, and the candles shining unsteadilythrough the gloom, like little evil winking eyes, he brooded so moodilyover his bondage to Poverty, that he desired to break from it at anycost.

  "I'd risk a lem for its weight in gowld: darned ef I wedn'!" he mutteredsavagely, as he dug at the stubborn rock with his pick.

  He could hear the sounds of blasting in other levels--the explosionstravelling to him in a muffled boom--and above him, for he was workingbeneath the bed of the ocean, he could faintly distinguish the grindingof the sea as the huge waves wallowed and roared across the beach.

  "I'm sick to death o' this here life," he grumbled; "I'd give a haand ora' eye for a pot o' suvrins. Iss, I'd risk more than that," he addeddarkly: letting the words ooze out as if under his breath.

  At that moment his pick detached a piece of rock which came crashingdown on the floor of the level, splintering into great jagged fragmentsas it fell.

  He started back with an exclamation of uncontrollable surprise. Thefalling rock had disclosed the interior of a cavern whose outlines werelost in impenetrable gloom, but which here and there in a vague fashion,as it caught the light of the candle flickering in his hat, seemed tosparkle as if its walls were crusted with silver.

  "Lor' Jimmeny, this es bra' an' queer!" he gasped.

  As he leaned on his pick, peering into the cavern with covetous eyes,but with a wildly-leaping heart, he was aware of an odd movement amongthe shadows which were elusively outlined by the light of his dip.

  It was almost as though some of them had an independent individuality,and could have detached themselves from their roots if they wished.

  It was certain a squat, hump-backed blotch, that was sprawling blacklybeside a misshapen block, was either wriggling on the floor as if tryingto stand upright . . . or else there was something wrong with his eyes.

  He stared at the wavering gloom in the cavern, with its quaint, angularsplashes of glister, where heads of quartz and patches of mundic caughtthe light from the unsteady flame of the candle, and presently he was_certain_ that the shadows were alive.

  Most of all he was sure that the little hump-backed oddity had risen toits feet and was a veritable creature: an actual uncouth, shamblinggrotesque, instead of a mere flat blotch of shadow.

  Up waddled the little hump-back to the hole in the wall where Joel stoodstaring, leaning on his pick.

  "What can I do for'ee, friend?" he asked huskily: his voice soundingfaint, hoarse, and muffled, as if it were coming from an immensedistance, or as if the squat little frame had merely borrowed it for thenonce.

  Joel stared at the speaker, with his lower jaw dropping.

  "What can I do for'ee, friend?" asked the hump-back; peering at thegrimy, half-naked miner, with his little ferrety eyes glowingluminously.

  Joel moistened his lips with his tongue before he answered. "Nawthin',plaise, sir," he gasped out, quakingly.

  "Nonsense, my man!" said the hump-back pleasantly, rubbing his handscheerfully together as he spoke. And Joel noticed that the fingers,though long and skinny--almost wrinkled and lean enough, in fact, topass for claws--were adorned with several sparkling rings. "Nonsense, myman! I'm your friend--if you'll let me be. O never mind my hump, if it'sthat that's frightening you, I got that through a fall a long whileago," and the lean brown face puckered into a smile. "Come! In what waycan I oblige'ee, friend? I can grant you any wish you like. Say theword--and it's done! Just think what you could do if you had heaps ofmoney, now--piles of suvrins in that owld chest in your bedroom,instead o' they paltry two-an'-twenty suvrins which you now got heededaway in the skibbet."

  Joel stared at the speaker with distended eyes: the great beads ofperspiration gathering on his forehead.

  "How ded'ee come to knaw they was there?" he asked.

  "I knaw more than that," said the hump-back, laughing. "I could tell'eea thing or two, b'leeve, if I wanted to. I knaw tin,[A] cumraade, aswell as the next." And with that he began to chuckle to himself.

  "Wedn'ee like they two-an'-twenty suvrins in the skibbet made ahunderd-an'-twenty?" asked the hump-back insinuatingly.

  "Iss, by Gosh, I should!" said Joel.

  "Then gi'me your haand on it, cumraade; an' you shall have 'em!"

  "Here goes, then!" said Joel, thrusting out his hand.

  The hump-back seized the proffered hand in an instant, covering thegrimy fingers with his own lean claws.

  "Oh, le'go! _le'go!_" shouted Joel.

  The hump-back grinned; his black eyes glittering.

  "I waan't be niggardly to'ee, cumraade," said he. "Every drop o' bloodyou choose to shed for the purpose shall turn into a golden suvrinfor'ee--there!"

  "Darn'ee! thee ben an' run thy nails in me--see!"

  And Joel shewed a drop of blood oozing from his wrist.

  "Try the charm, man! Wish! Hold un out, an' say, _Wan_!"

  Joel held out his punctured wrist mechanically.

  "Wan!"

  There was a sudden gleam--and down dropped a sovereign: a bright goldcoin that rang sharply as it fell.

  "Try agen!" said the hump-back, grinning delightedly.

  Joel stooped first to pick up the coin, and bit it eagerly.

  "Ay, good Gosh! 'tes gowld, sure 'nuff!"

  "Try agen!" said the hump-back "Make up a pile!"

  Joel held out his wrist and repeated the formula.

  "Wan!"

  And another coin clinked at his feet.

  "I needn' wait no longer, s'pose?" said the hump-back.

  "Wan!" cried Joel. And a third coin dropped.

  He leaned on his pick and kept coining his blood eagerly, till presentlythere was quite a little pile at his feet.

  The hump-back watched him intently for a time: but Joel appeared to beoblivious of his presence; and the squat little figure stealthilydisappeared.

  The falling coins kept chiming melodiously, till present
ly the greatstalwart miner had to lean against the wall of the level to supporthimself. So tired as he was, he had never felt before. But give over histask he either could not, or would not. The chink of the gold-pieces hemust hear if he died for it. He looked down at them greedily. "Wan! . . .Wan! . . . Wan! . . ."

  Presently he tottered, and fell over on his heap.

  At that same moment the halting little hump-back stole out from theshadows immediately behind him, and leaned over Joel, rubbing his handsgleefully.

  "I must catch his soul," said the little black man.

  And with that he turned Joel's head round sharply, and held his hand tothe dying man's mouth.

  Just then there fluttered up to Joel's lips a tiny yellow flame, which,for some reason or other, seemed as agitated as if it had a humanconsciousness. One might almost have imagined it perceived the littlehump-back, and knew full well who and what he was.

  But there on Joel's lips the flame hung quivering. And now a deepershadow fell upon his face.

  Surely the tiny thing shuddered with horror as the hump-back's blackpaws closed upon it!

  But, in any case, it now was safely prisoned. And the little black manlaughed long and loudly.

  "Not so bad a bargain after all!" chuckled he.

  FOOTNOTE:

  [A] To "_knaw tin_" is among the miners of Cornwall a sign of, and acolloquial euphemism for, _cleverness_.

  AN UNEXPECTED JOURNEY.

  THE performance was over: the curtain had descended and the spectatorshad dispersed.

  There had been a slight crush at the doors of the theatre, and what withthe abrupt change from the pleasant warmth and light of the interior tothe sharp chill of the night outside, Preston shivered, and a suddenweakness smote him at the joints.

  The crowd on the pavement in front of the theatre melted away withunexampled rapidity, in fact, seemed almost to waver and disappear asif the _mise en scene_ had changed in some inexplicable way.

  A hansom drove up, and Preston stepped into it heavily, glancingdrowsily askance at the driver as he did so.

  Seated up there, barely visible in the gloom, the driver had an almostgrisly aspect, humped with waterproof capes, and with such a lean, whiteface. Preston, as he glanced at him, shivered again.

  The trap-door above him opened softly, and the colourless face peereddown at him curiously.

  "Where to, sir?" asked the hollow voice.

  Preston leaned back wearily. "Home," he replied.

  It did not strike him as anything strange or unusual, that the driverasked no questions but drove off without a word. He was very weary, andhe wanted to rest.

  The sleepless hum of the city was abidingly in his ears, and the lampsthat dotted the misty pavements stared at him blinkingly all along theroute. The tall black buildings rose up grimly into the night; the facesthat flitted to and fro along the pavements, kept ever sliding past him,melting into the darkness; and the cabs and 'buses, still astir in thestreets, had a ghostly air as they vanished in the gloom.

  Preston lay back, weary in every joint, a drowsy numbness settling onhis pulse. He had faith in his driver: he would bring him safely home.

  Presently they were at one of the wharves beside the river: Prestoncould hear the gurgle of the water around the piles.

  Not this way had he ever before gone homeward. He looked out musingly onthe swift, black stream.

  "Just in time: we can go down with the tide," said a voice.

  Preston would have uttered some protest, but this sluggishnessoverpowered him: it was as if he could neither lift hand nor foot. Theinertia of indifference had penetrated into his bones.

  Presently he was aware that he had entered a barge that lay closeagainst the wharf, heaving on the tide. And, as if it were all a pieceof the play, the lean old driver, with his dead-white face, had the oarsin his hands and stood quietly facing him, guiding the dark craft downthe stream.

  The panorama of the river-bank kept changing and shifting in the mostinexplicable manner, and Preston was aware of a crowd of pictures evercoming and going before his eyes: as if some subtle magician, standingbehind his shoulder, were projecting for him, on the huge black screenof night, the most marvellous display of memories he had evercontemplated. For they were all memories, or blends of memories, thatnow rose here on the horizon of his consciousness. There was nothing newin essentials presented to him: but the grouping was occasionally novelto a fault.

  The dear old home--the dear old folks! Green hills, with the littlewhite-washed cottage in a dimple of them, and in the foreground thewind-fretted plain of the sea. The boyish games--marbles andhoop-trundling--and the coming home at dusk to the red-lighted kitchen,where the mother had the tea ready on the table and the sisters sat attheir knitting by the fire.

  The dear, dear mother! how his pulse yearned towards her! there weretears in his eyes as he thought of her now. Yet, all the same, the quietof his pulse was profound.

  And there was the familiar scenery of his daily life: the ink-staineddesks, the brass rails for the books, the ledgers and bank-books, andthe files against the walls; and the faces of his fellow-clerks (eventhe office boy) depicted here before him to the very life.

  The wind across the waters blew chilly in his face: he shivered, anumbness settling in his limbs.

  His sweet young wife, so loving and gentle--how shamefully he hadneglected her, seeking his own pleasure selfishly--there she sat in thefamiliar chair by the fireside with dear little Daisy dancing on herknee. What a quiet, restful interior it was! He wondered: would theymiss him much if he were dead? . . . Above all, would little Daisyunderstand what it meant when some one whispered to her "_favee isdead_"?

  The wavering shadows seemed to thicken around the boat. And the figureat the oars--how lean and white it was: and yet it seemed a good kind offellow, too, he thought. Preston watched it musingly as the stream borethem onward: the rushing of the water almost lulling him to sleep.

  Were they sweeping outward, then, to the unknown sea?

  It was an unexpected journey. . . . And he had asked to be taken _home_!

  Presently the air grew full of shapes: shadowy shapes with mournfulfaces; shapes that hinted secrets, with threatenings in their eyes.

  If a man's sins, now, should take to themselves bodies, would it not bein some such guise as this they would front and affright him at dead ofnight?

  Preston shivered, sitting there like a mere numb lump.

  How much of his wrong-doing is forgiven to a man--and how muchremembered against him in the reckoning?

  How awful this gruesome isolation was becoming!

  Was it thus a man went drifting up to God?

  The figure at the oars was crooning softly. It was like the lullaby hismother used to sing to him when he was a child.

  There was a breath of freer air--humanity lay behind them--they werealone with Nature on the vast, dim sea.

  The numbness crept to the roots of his being. He had no hands to lift;he had no feet to move. His heart grew sluggish: there was a numbness inhis brain.

  Death stood upright now in the bow before him: and in the east he wasaware of a widening breadth of grey.

  Would the blackness freshen into perfect day for him . . . or would thenight lie hopelessly on him for ever? . . .

  The figure drew near--and laid its hand across his eyes. . . .

  * * * * *

  "Thrown out of the hansom, and the wheels went over him, sir. He wasdead in less than five minutes, I should think."

  "Cover his face . . . and break it gently to his wife."

  THE MAN WHO COULD TALK WITH THE BIRDS.

  A TALE TOLD BY THE FIRESIDE.

  WANCE upon a time there was a youngster in Zennor who was all'ysgeekin'[B] into matters that warn't no use in the world. Some do say 'awas cliver, too, weth it all, an' cut out that there mermaid in thechurch[C] what the folks do come from miles round to see. Anyway, 'awarn't like 'es brawthers an' sesters, an' 'es folks dedn' knaw what
tomaake of un, like.

  Well, wan day when 'a was wand'rin' about, down to Nancledrea or somesuch plaace, 'a got 'mong lots o' trees an' bushes an' heerd the cuckooscallin' to ayche awther, an' awther kinds o' birds what was singin' ortalkin,' an' all as knawin' as humans, like. So no rest now cud 'a git,poor chuckle-head! for wantin' to larn to spayke weth they.

  Well, it warn't long arter that 'a was geekin' as usual round some owldruined crellas[D] up to Choon, when 'a seed a man weth a long whitebeard settin' on wan o' the burrows[E] on the hill that are 'longsidethat owld Quoit[F] up there.

  'A was a bowldish piece o' goods, was the youngster, simmin'ly, for 'adedn' mind the stranyer a dinyun,[G] though 'a _was_ like an owld blackwitch,[H] they do say. Anyhow, the two beginned jawin' together, soongot thick as Todgy an' Tom. An' by-an'-by the stranyer wormed out of unhow 'a was all'ys troubled in 'es mind 'cause 'a cudn' onderstaand whatthe birds was sayin'.

  "I'd give anything in the world," says the bucca-davy,[I] "ef I cudonnly larn to spayke weth they."

  "Aw, es it so, me dear," said the stranyer: "well, I'll tayche'ee totalk to they, sure 'nuff, ef thee'll come up to that owld Quoit wethme."

  "What must I pay'ee?" axed the youngster, bowld-like. For he'd heerd o'cureyus bargains o' this kind, an' 'a dedn' want to risk 'es sawl.

  "Nawthin'! Nawthin', me dear!" said the stranyer. "I shall git paidfor't in a way o' me awn."

  Well, the end of it was, accordin' to the story, that the youngster'greed to go 'long weth un: so up the two of 'em went to the Quoit.