Archie Carew

Chapter I

The scene is the side of a hill in North Wales ; the time near midsummer. An eccentric person had built there a Swiss chalet, the view from which was lovely : below lies a lake, an oval mirror set in a frame of fields. The first point in its outline that the eye naturally rests upon, is a mountain gorge at the further end. The next, a solitary green island, looking like a floating meadow anchored for the day. The curved lines of the shore which begin to diverge directly they leave the gorge, draw together at a point beneath us, and finally join where the lake discharges its superfluous waters into a broad river. On the margin of the lake at this end are meadows, through which meanders a winding reedy brook, finding its way with sluggish currents to the lake, as though faint and weary with the turmoil of its mountain life. £ Next come woods clothing the side of the hill ; then furze-brake, and fern, and finally moorland with rocky prominences.

On one side of the meadows runs a lane, flat at first, then climbing the hill-side ; a little way up is the white gate leading to the chalet. The garden is separated from the field, of which it was once a part, bya fence of stakes driven into the ground crosswise in Swiss fashion. Up this fence bright creepers grow, while gravelled walks separate some pretty flower beds, in which the bright colours are blended tastefully. A glass door stands in the centre of the house we have called a chalet, and above it is a simple, large diamond paned window ; on one side of the door a vine creeps up the trellis, and, covering the lower balcony, is now feeling its way up the bark covered pillars, to the upper one ; on the other side a deep green myrtle fills the space from the ground to the first story, throwing into strono relief some bright scarlet geraniums, which groAV in the border below.

The back premises are concealed from us by a belt of fir trees, which extends on both sides of the house, sheltering it from north and east. From the eastern end of the balcony one can see the lane winding down the hill, round by the meadows and over the stone bridge, which crosses the river some feAV hundred yards below its outlet from the, lake ; but before it reaches the bridge, there is the turning to the village, the white-walled, grey-chimneyed cottages of which peep out from among the trees ; almost in the centre stands the old church, the russet walls and unpretending tower of which are scarce visible through the screen of dark green yew trees in which they are embowered, and which, from their contrast to the varied greens of brighter hue around, form the most conspicuous object in the picture.

Such is the outward scene, and it is a scene of beauty on this sunny day. Having surveyed it, let us step through the open window to the in terior of the dwelling. We are in a room fur nished with studious plainness ; scarce an orna ment meets the eye ; the chairs are mere painted wood ; the chequered cloth on the table only hides the deal surface, of which the red stained legs tell the tale ; the plain carpet only covers the centre of the floor, leaving the bare polished boards in view on its four sides : utility, not ornament, is the pervading mark of eA^ery thing, but everything is clean, everything in its place, tidiness reigns. There are but three signs of luxury in the place : one a bookcase well filled with books, the second some water-colour paint ings on the bare stained walls, and the last, two easy chairs, of most inviting appearance ; lying b in a streak of sunshine is a small white bull terrier, his round head rests between his paws, his ears are back, and his red-rimmed eyes closed in sleep ; on a mat not far off is stretched at full length a vicious-looking red wire-haired terrier, of the English breed.

The only other living thing that inhabits the room is a girl sitting at needlework in one of the easy chairs, and she is an object on which the eye may well rest with interest, for her face and form are both beautiful. No written description ever gives a true idea of a person, enough to say that this young woman had brown hair and plenty of it, and that it was dressed in the fashion of the day, which looked becoming to her at any rate. Her eyes were blue-grey, large, wide-open, and trustful ; as she sits at work, they are half hidden by their long lashes ; presently, when she looks up at the blue sky and over the lake, we shall see that they are rendered doubly luminous by the contrast of dark eyebrows and lashes. To a sculptor, her mouth would be the worst feature in her face, for the lips are full and sensual ; he could not render such shapes in marble, they belong to flesh and blood.

The figure is that of a young woman of .twenty years or thereabouts, tall and lithe, but plump and round ; there is no hard and scraggy line about her ; her movements are those of one who cannot ARCHIE CAREAV. help being graceful; she has no more thought of her deportment than a kitten has of hers ; every motion has the natural turn of grace that we see only (to use a somewhat hackneyed simile) in wild animals. She has found out her good looks long ago. When she binds those long tresses, she cannot help being pleased with her reflected figure. She loves her beauty, not for herself, but for the sake of someone else — a person of whom her thoughts are now full. Suddenly the sharp, cropped ears of the little white terrier, hitherto lying flat upon his neck, spring briskly forward, and remain peaked up in a listening attitude : at the same time he opens both his eyes and inclines them in the same direction as his ears are evidently point ing ; thus he remains quite still for a single minute, the next, he is upon his legs with wild excitement displayed in every limb and feature.

His mistress looks at him. " What's the matter, Nettle ?" Nettle has remained once more for a second in a listening attitude ; now he rushes to the door, barking furiously. Vixen is aroused, too, by this time, and waddles also to the door, whining. " Nonsense, Nettle ! nonsense, Vixen ! it's nothing ! " once more says the brisk, kind voice of the working figure ; but immediately after wards she appears to have caught the infection too, for she springs quickly up, and saying, " Surely it cannot be," opens the door, and they all rush out pell-mell together.

Chapter II

Thirty years ago that excellent four-horsed coach, " The Traveller," was rolling rapidly along one of those broad, well-made roads that intersect Wales. It was a bright day in June, and the out side was well filled Avith passengers, generally of the usual class of summer tourists, who thronged to the principality as soon as the fine weather began. In a Welsh coach almost every dialect in England found a representative — the pert cockney drawl, the broad and h-less Lanca shire, the harsh and equally h-less Cheshire, the pleasant, manly tones of young University men, the keen and polished talk of London barristers, occasionally the clear voices of well-bred ladies, mingled with the hopeless gibberish of the Cymmraeg, and the equally intolerable English- Welsh. On the present occasion, the usual babel of tongues is called forth by the constantly in creasing beauty of the scenery.

But the only figure in the group on the coach-top in which this tale is interested, is the young man with light brown hair, moustache and beard, who sits beside the coachman. He takes little part in the conversation, and he is evidently not a tourist ; for when any question is asked about the locality, he answers it in a pleasant and civil voice, showing an intimate knowledge of the country. By-and-by the coach stops at the end of a lane leading out of the main road. The young man gets down, displaying a tall, well-made, wiry figure, and having fee'd the coachman, places his stick through the leather handles of his carpet-bag, swings it to his shoulders, and sets off down the lane with a brisk, slinging stride that bespeaks the athlete. His figure clad in a grey shooting dress, is no model of per fection, but his shoulders are square and flat, his flanks lean, his head well set on, and out of his bright blue eyes and in his easy springy motions, health and hardened muscles speak ; but in his face there is a tinge of gravity, if not of sadness, enhanced perhaps by the moustache, which hides a playful mouth ; he looks as if there were some thing at his heart that marred a thorough con tentment of disposition.

" A fine young man," said a stout old gentle man, sitting on the front seat, to the coachman, " do you know who he is ? " ""Well, sir, he ain't one of these parts, he's an Englishman, as I am myself : he's took the fishing from Sir Robert, and lives up in a queer wooden house above Llyn Hellyn — we shall see it directly. Carew he's called — he comes from the south ; another Englishman built the house ; he was mad, so they said. I've heard tell he built it after a foreign fashion, and certainly there is nothing I ever see at all like it. They, that's he and his wife, are great favourites all round. They does a deal of good to the poor, more especially in Llanvynnock, the village you see down there beyond the bridge; we shall seethehouse directly now — Carrog, they calls it." Meantime let us follow our hero (for such he is) as he strides down the lane : now he makes along the flat, and over the bridge and along the flat again beyond, till he turns in at the very white gate which we have already described.

When he arrives within a hundred yards or so of the house, he gives a shrill whistle with a peculiar note, repeating it at intervals till he opens the white gate. From thence he steps along the gravel walk swiftly towards the house door ; but before he can reach it, the bright figure of the girl we have before seen, comes bounding out to meet him, and presently they turn and walk together towards the house, she twisting her hair which has fallen about her shoulders back into its former coil. "Nettle heard you whistle, Archie, while he was asleep at my feet ; and I wouldn't believe him at first, because I didn't expect you to-day ; but he soon managed to tell me who it was." " Fine old fellow, he is worth his weight in gold," said Archie, with Nettle in his arms. " I wouldn't part with him for ten times that," was the reply ; and they sauntered into the house.

" How did you get on with your business, Archie ? " "Pretty well. The mine is paying nobody but my brother at present, but I have great confidence in it. They have demonstrated to my satisfaction that they must soon reach the ory ground again, and then I think it will pay us handsomely. However that may be, there is little or no risk, for the accounts are open to all the shareholders, and we pay as we go-" " Your brother has the best of the bargain." " Yes, ' To him that hath shall be given.' A man has only to be a baronet with 6000Z. a year, and the subsoil of one field will be a fortune to him, and without risk, too ; my few acres will never produce a stone worth twopence, I'll be bound. But do not let us talk about the mine ; what has been going on since I left, Mary ? " Oh ! Margaret Jones at the mill has had a little baby, such a little darling."

ARCHIE CAREAV. " You have been doing monthly nurse, I daresay." " I have been down every day, and they say I am a great help, for her mother can clean up Avhile I take the baby. Poor Margaret is too Aveak to have it always — what do you think, Archie ? yesterday I washed and dressed it ! " " How delightful ! " " Indeed, I am very proud of it — you know I am very fond of little babies." " Personally, I consider them singularly un attractive objects, but I think it is quite right that women should be fond of them and very lucky moreover. Is that all the news ? " " Oh, no ! old Betsy Parry is getting well of the rheumatism — I knew she would when the hot weather came ; but she persists it is my port wine, and blesses me, poor old thing ! every time I go to see her ; and Isaac Jones, the blacksmith, is gone on the tramp in search of work again — there will be so little doing here till harvest ; and, by-the-bye, Owen Jones was up here yesterday to say a good many trout had been selling in Llanfartha last week, cheap, and he thinks the Bryn-Eglws men have been night lining the preserve again."

" The devil he does ! " " He has been out every night since, but has found no one." " I must look to that," said Archie, musingly. "You won't go out at night, Archie, will you? those Bryn-Eglws men are such desperate characters; remember how they beat poor Owen Jones last year." " I can't have the river poached, I am bound to prevent it by my lease ; if I don't go myself, I must pay another keeper — besides, I shouldn't at all mind havingit out with that Sam Lewis, the hammer-man, who thrashed Owen last summer ; I looked at him not long ago. He is a very powerful man, but I am more active ; and my science, and my Devonshire wrestling would give me a great pull." She measured him proudly with her eye ; she believed he was unconquerable, and she was but half displeased at the prospect of his displaying his prowess, still she said, " I wish you could keep clear of broils, they breed ill-blood in the neighbourhood, and we are very happy here now.

What do a few fish matter ? " "If Sam Lewis or any other man likes to come and ask me for a day's fishing, he shall have it and welcome, but I will not stand their coming poaching in the night with nets and night-lines," he replied, decidedly. " If Owen Jones comes up, let me see him ; I shall go down in the coracle to-morrow." " Ah ! I dislike that coracle more than all the poachers ; you will be brought home to me drowned some day ; it is always before my eyes." " Nonsense ! why, I mean to take you with me, some day." " Oh ! I should like that, Archie ; when will you take me? " "What a lump of inconsistency you are! You were afraid just now that I should be drowned, but what would only be a risk for me would be almost certainty to you." " Very possibly, .but I should be with you, and there would be no chance of my being saved if you were drowned," she said, pressing his arm lovingly.

" I should not fear our going to the bottom together, I should not fear being drowned if you were saved; but what I really dread — " and she shuddered — " is to have to live when you are gone." " Well, Mary," said he, " I will be very careful to-morrow ; I will go in the double coracle and take Owen with me, and you shall bring my luncheon to Hoel's pool. You can ride the pony and put him up at the 'Harp,' and walk down to the river — and tell old Lloyd of the 'Grouse,' as you pass, that I have come home, so he had better begin his brewings soon, we shall be out of beer before long." After dark the same day they sat together on the balcony, enjoying the calm, cool evening time, and the moonlight view upon the lake. " Which do you like best, after all, Mary ? " he said, after a pause, " this or Scotland ?

" "I never was so happy as I am here," she answered, coming over and seating herself beside him. " I thought Scotland beautiful, more beautiful even than this, but I disliked the roving life we led : we have been so calm and quiet since we came to this pretty place, and it is so pleasant to be able to speak of home. You are not tired of it, are you, Archie ? " Not in the least ; a twelvemonth has had no effect upon my roving disposition ; I feel as if I should like to end my days here with you." " God grant you may," she said, quietly. At this moment Vixen pushed her cold nose into his hand, and on encouragement placed her two fore paws upon his leg ; Nettle was up in stantly and full of jealousy, nevertheless Archie caressed Vixen kindly. " Nothing in the Avorld loves me half as well as you do, after all, old girl," he said.

" Why do you talk nonsense ? " said a voice. " Why, you ! " he replied. " What do you mean by measuring your love with the doer's ? yours is mere selfishness in comparison with her blind, devoted trustfulness. You want a return • you exact reciprocity ; you would cool if my fond- ARCHIE CAREAV. ness were to relax — there are half-a-dozen things I could do which would make you loath me. Could the deadliest or most odious crime alienate her ? No ; nothing that I can do in this world can make me less in her eyes ; she would jump on me in the felon's dock, and lick my hand on my way to the gallows." " Now you are philosophizing, Archie; don't philosophize, I don't like it ; don't be wise to night." " Do you mean to gainsay me ? do you mean to compare your — " he was stopped by a hand on his mouth.

" Hush ! " she said, " you don't know what you are talking about. I love you with all the dumb animal's affection, and with my whole woman's nature, body and soul besides." Archie made no audible reply. They sat in silence for some time then he lighted his pipe.

Chapter III

The next morning, about eight o'clock, a remarkable appearance is observable on the river bank, in the meadow above the bridge. What on earth can it be ? It has arisen in the night like a mushroom, for yesterday there was nothing to arrest the eye along the whole of that flat space ; it is evidently a habitation of some sort : from a little distance it looks like the section of a waterproofed wigwam ; on a nearer approach it turns out to be an upright, rounded, black, shining structure, open in the front toAvards the river, and resting upon a single supporting pillar; and seated on thegrass under its canopy, is the savage to whom it gives shelter — a long-limbed, hawk nosed fellow in corduroys who is smoking a short black pipe and arranging fishing tackle upon his knees. To him approaches a tall figure we have seen before, clad in grey, and carrying a rod upon his shoulders ; the savage rises and touches his hat.

ARCHIE CAREAV. " Good morning, sir." " Good morning, Owen ; I am rather late, so we will start at once." The wigwam is forthwith deliberately dis placed and launched into the water, where it floats like a nutshell. In steps Owen Jones, grasping in his right hand the supporting pillar, which now turns out to be a paddle ; Archie follows w*ith the rod ; two or three strong strokes of the paddle carry them to the middle of the stream ; the light craft glides gently down the current for a few yards, then shoots swiftly through the centre arch of the bridge ; you see the quick flashing of Archie's rod, the glitter of a trout as he lifts it over the side, and a day's coracle fishing has begun. This coracle, which in shape is like a gigantic black walnut shell, is nothing more or less than the ancient British wicker-work, hide-covered boat familiar to our youthful reading in connection with the period when our British ancestors perambulated these islands in a light costume of blue paint.

Slightly modified by modern science in detail, but not in principle, by the substitution of tough, ashen laths for the wicker, and strong tarpaulin for the skins, it is now used by the lineal descendants of its inventors in their native waters. Its mode of navigation still retains the marks of early c simplicity, the stream represents the principal propelling power, the paddle performing the duties of rudder, and sometimes of auxiliary screw. This instrument when used is firmly grasped by the oarsman just above the point where the blade begins, the shaft or handle passing between the forearm and the body, and resting on the biceps muscle ; in this position it forms a most effective engine for propulsion, retardation, or steering, but it is seldom powerful enough to stem the stream. The stroke is one of the form of the figure 8, and the celerity and ease with which the boat is whirled and twisted about in skilful hands is remarkable.

It is curious to watch the flimsy, floating shell now gliding softly doAvn a long still pool, now rushing wildly over a rapid, now deftly guided between rocks, stakes, or fallen trees. Every thing depends on the oarsman ; inevitable ship wreck seems to stare the miserable fisherman in the face a dozen times ; he sees the coracle darting wildly on a rock, in a narrow passage in which there is no turning to the right or left ; he shuts his eyes for a second, while the water boils and roars around him, and the next instant he finds himself safe and comfortable in the pool below — a stroke in the very nick of time has just enabled him to clear the danger by an inch. Some of the coracle men in Wales manage their coracles and fish at the same time, having the paddle in one hand and the rod in the other ; but on swift rivers this is a dangerous experi ment.

Let not the too-confiding amateur, reliant on his own oarsmanship, venture alone into a coracle ; for an unwonted motion, a too vigorous sneeze, an ill-timed blowing of the nose, is too likely to result in a capsize and a watery end to his fishing, if not worse. While Archie is thus being wafted down the pleasant waters of the Hellyn, past bright green meadows, past willowed banks, past fresh clustering ferns, past pebbly beaches, or borne softly on the eddies of long, deep, silent pools that seem to lie asleep between the woods, the drooping boughs of which kiss the drowsy water as it creeps along, where the dense calm atmo sphere is scarce disturbed by currents from the common air, and sound seems banished to the outer world — while he is traversing such scenes as these, or rushing wildly down the broken waters of a cataract, or luring the spotted trout from their haunts under banks and among rocks, let us return to Carrog.

No sooner was Archie duly kissed away, and bidden to take care of himself, than Mary's blithesome figure, radiant with the freshness of the morning, with Nettle ever at her heels, c pervaded the house from top to bottom. Clad in a light grey dress, close-fitting, with tight sleeves, and with her hair trimly done, she flits from room to room about her household duties, whistling as she goes a lively air as accompani ment to her motions. She is an accomplished whistler, and has a habit of indulging greatly in that unladylike - accomplishment when alone. First, the wants of the old blackbird, whose acquaintance we have not yet made, are at tended to, and he is hoisted by a pulley to his place at the roof of the balcony, secure from predatory cats ; next comes an interview with Jane in the kitchen, and after that a stroll across the yard into the kitchen garden ; there she plucks two carrots from the ground, and again retraces her steps to the yard and to the stable-door.

Her footstep on the threshold and her hand upon the latch produce a very small contented neigh from within, for Minnie, the pony, knows her morning carrot is approaching ; but Minnie must first submit to a caress before she is permitted to enjoy the feast, which she undergoes with only a half -good grace, preferrino* carrots, like a stupid quadruped as she is. " I shall want Minnie at twelve, Ben," her mistress says to a boy who is washing potatoes at a stone trough in the yard ; and she trips in doors again. At twelve she duly reappears in walking dress, with a basket on her arm, fetches Minnie from the stable with her own hands, and leads her down the steep lane, not mounting till they arrive upon the level ground ; once there, they rattle off together to the village as if both enjoyed the fun.

The first visit is to the baby, the next to old dame Betsy Parry, and by the time she mounts again the basket is almost empty. Just at the end of the village, she pulls up at the " Grouse," a wayside hostel ; a stoutish man in corduroy breeches and fustian gaiters comes out to meet her, and touches his hat. " Good morning, ma'am." " Good morning, William. Mr. Carew came back last night, and he told me to call and tell you we should be out of beer in another fort night or three weeks, and he wants you to brew him some fresh ; he liked the last very much." " Thank you, ma'am, indeed I will brew next Monday for you." " Fine weather, ma'am," with another touch of the hat. " I did see Mr. Carew just now in the curricle with Owen Jones, I hope he is well." " Very well, thank you. Come, Nettle ! for shame !

Turn my dog out, William, please, he is quarrelling with your cat." " Indeed she has little ones. I doubt she will scratch him." Out came Nettle and pussy together, but Nettle agreed to put off the finishing of the battle till another time at his mistress's voice, who, saying "good morning" to William Lloyd, rode off towards the ' Harp.' " About half-way there she met Owen Jones returning. " What's the matter, Owen ? " " Mr. Carew thought two was too many in the curricle in the shallows, ma'am, so he sent me back to get my dinner." " Foolish boy," she thought, as she rode briskly on, " I know he will have some accident, if he manages that coracle by himself." Arrived at the " Harp " and the pony put up, Mary wended her way through the fields to a thicket close by Llyn Hoel or Hoel's pool, and having found a soft spot in the fresh mossy turf, she seats herself in the checquered shade of hazel and alder bushes, and taking out her work, begins to ply her needle till Archie shall arrive.

Meanwhile Nettle examines the neighbourhood with systematic thoroughness, partly with a view to prey in the shape of rats or rabbits, partly to ascertain the whereabouts of his master, whose advent, he knows by experience, may be expected. Having satisfied himself upon these two points, he returns to his mistress's side, and sits up with ears erect, waiting for the welcome whistle. Mary works on, glancing now and then at the shining water as it ripples at her feet, and listening to a thrush that breaks the midday silence with his bold, impulsive song. From where she sits she can command a view of the bend of the river that joins the pool, so that she must see Archie the very instant he comes with in view. How still the woods are ! she lays aside her work, and leaning back against a tree, gives way to the current of her thoughts ; a con fiding robin hops down from his twig and eats a worm quite unabashed before her face; fussy nimble black-caps hop and twitter above her head, and the bright-eyed water-rats peer from out their holes and scud among the roots laid bare by former floods.

She might be in primeval forests so absent is every human sound. The sense of loneliness begins to oppress her. She wishes Archie would come. Great heavens ! what is this ? Her heart stops suddenly with a dreadful thump ; she gulps down a choking sensation, and presses her hand involuntarily to her side in an attitude of pain ; but her keen fixed eyes never leave that awful black object, the empty coracle, which, borne helplessly on the stream, floats slowly past her. It has gone ARCHIE CAREAV. before she can gather her senses together. Her next movement is to get up quickly, and tearing through the bushes, to run along the bank as fast as her nimble limbs will carry her, unconscious Nettle cantering on before, delighted at his mistress's unwonted sportiveness. She has not gone far when, coming to a sudden bend in the stream, she beholds her beloved, not as she expects to find him, in the state described by Mr. Manta lini as a " damp unpleasant body," but in a decided state of animation, up to his middle in water, and evidently, by the unusual bending of the rod and the tension of the line, struggling with a fish of more than ordinary calibre.