Greatheart

Front matter

GREATHEART VOL. GREATHEART. Bi WALTER THORNBURY, AUTHOE OF " HAUNTED LONDON," &c. &c. " He that will not rule by the rudder, must be ruled by the rock." Cornish Proverb IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. n. LONDON: HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN, 13, GEEAT MAELBOEOUGH STREET. 1866. The right of Translation is reserved. LONDON : PRINTED BT MACDONALD AND TUGWELL, BLENHEIM HOUSE, BLENHEIM STREET, OXFORD STREET. CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME. CHAPTER PAGE I. The Perpetual Curate . . . . 1 II. The Capitulation 19 III. The Feast of St. Lucifer .... 32 IV. ROBY TAKES HIS SECRET OUT OF Mr. MOR- DRED'S REACH 42 V. The Billiakd-room 55 VI. Mr. Mordred opens the First Parallel . 60 VII. Mr. Trevena throws down his Gauntlet . 77 VIII. Mr. Hookem's Farewell Party . . .81 IX. Round (James and a Dance . . .113 X. The Glass goes down considerably . . 147 A Feather can show the way the Wind XL Blows 164 XII.

The Silver Cup CONTENTS. VI CHAPTER PAGE XHI. A Parley 202 XIV. The Drive to Portnewet.i . . . 210 XV. Captain Sandoe 241 XVI. Mr. Greatheart 249 XVH. The Great Wheal Fortune . . .259 XVin. The Secret is told at last . . . 265 XIX. Sunset at Dunchine 283 XX. The Gridiron Club at Home . . . 298 XXI. The "Forge" 308 XXH. News from Home 319 XXHI. Mr. Trevena and the Bishop . . .

Chapter I. The Perpetual Curate

1^0 examine a pile of coal and clothing club accounts, to write notes, and at the same time to keep an eye on a screen of steaming sheets, the terrible record of a monthly wash, is quite as much as any* man could be expected to do at one arid the same time. But when a thick-set girl, sable with reckless industry*, entered Mr. Trevena's room, bearing clumsily a large saucepan of soup for the poor, which missus hoped Mr. Trevena would stir every time it began to boil, as the kitchen fire was occu pied, the aforesaid gentleman rebelled, the more especially* as he was then seated, busy, and chuckling over some notes he had made upon the bishop's late charge. It had just struck him that he would write a charge that might be the most good natured but telling of satires, because it should be a charge such as charges should be, not such as they are, and the thought tickled the excellent but unworldly man.

" Tell your missus," he said, " that I really can not have a saucepan here — it takes all my time VOL. II. B GREATHEART. watching and turning these sheets. I wish the wash was over — there get away, gal." At that moment Miss Trevena, guessing the cause of Emily's delay, appeared on the scene, stern as Thalestris, busy as a chandler on melting day, inexorable as Atropos. She was a fanatic of domestic duties, and her life was one sequence of self-denying ordinances. Pleasure and enjoyment could only pass as contraband goods into that household. " Frederick," she said, " I am astonished, ata time like this, that you should make these objec tions. Look at the sacrifices I have to make." " But—" "But stuff and nonsense! — Emily*, put that soup on directly. Here, give me the spoon. Good gracious! what's the girl hesitating for?

These sheets are as wet as when they were brought in ; and as for Orgies, the cook, it is quite wicked how she has been grumbling — but there, they're all alike!" Miss Trevena was in a paroxysm of industry. Out of that amiable household deity she had made a Moloch, to which she sacrificed all the gentle daily* pleasures of life. Inexorable high priestess that she was, she treated the house as if it was a temple, and polished its corner stones, not to make the inmates comfortable, but for the abstract de light of polishing. " Mary, my dear, has Benson been here yet about the wood for the bonfire." " Oh ! yes ; but I sent the man away. I said you were busy." " Dear, dear, dear, now, I particularly wanted to see Benson about an old hat for Guy Fawkes. You take up all my time with these petty household occupations ; and then, when a man comes to see me on business, you send him away.

Why don't you sit down, and be quiet, and let the servants do the work ." ** As if they could be trusted. How unfeeling you are, Frederick — you have no consideration — there's never anything to do — no monthly wash, no pig to kill, no anything ; and there you sit in your easy-chair, warm and com fortable, and instead of writing a good sermon, employ* yourself at that nonsense." " Nonsense ! — why, it's a splendid idea, Mary." " Yes, very splendid ; attacking the bishops is always the way to get a good living." -* But, my dear, they deserve attacking — I only attack their abuses." " Then let those attack them who have nothing to lose. You needn't break your neck to show other men how to ride." " Now you are talking like the world, Mary." The fever of the week's household fuss had made Miss Trevena, naturally a stern spinster, quite hard and cruel, good sensible woman as she really was.

She spoke now like a Boadicea, fresh from the Roman scourge. B2 GREATHEART. " Well, and it is this world we have to live in — do be more practical." " There is no abiding city here. What does St. Paul say- " ** A letter, sir, from Mr. Hookem," said Emily, appearing, her face still in an eclipse of dirt. " Groom's waiting for hanser." It was an invitation to a farewell party — dinner and whist for the elder persons, and round games and dance for the younger. -- We can't go, Mary ; it is my penny reading night, you know." " Stuff about the reading, you can put it off for once — let them read to themselves. I shall go if you don't. You are a great deal too good-natured, all these people impose on you — you can't refuse." " Well, I hardly know, but I think I might for once ; or I could have the reading, you know, and come and bring you home afterwards." -- No, I don't go without you — you'll knock yourself up with all that walking.

Much good they do with their reading — look at James Hanson " Mr. Trevena gave in, as usual, and wrote, ac cepting the invitation. " Just stop, Mary, and hear a passage in my bishop's charge. Here's a rub for them ! In my* third page I say, ' I wish you clearly to understand that I am easy of access to all — the humblest and youngest curate in my diocese is as welcome to my frugal table, at all times, as the highest dignitary ; for I cannot forget that a bishop should be humble as well as hospitable, and should fence himself round with no proud assumptions or irritating punctilios.' There's a rub for the spiritual nobles, who spend half their time dozing in the House of Lords. Do you call that good ." " I call it very unwise. But I must go. There's that pig to see to, and as for leaving it to the ser vants, I'd as soon " Here the door slammed behind the terrible housekeeper.

Mr. Trevena resumed his work. He had scarcely sat down to write, when the garden-gate opened, and in scuffled about a dozen village children, their little faces blue pinched with cold, peering out like Famine's offspring from under their sun bonnets and rusty felt hats. They had come to ask for wood for the bonfire, the next day being St. Guido's Day, as Mr. Waverton would have called it. " Give us, Mr. Trevena, some wood for bon fire, please, sir," said the ringleader, a little chubby boy about ten years old. Mr. Trevena opened the study window, to see what they wanted. At this juncture a pretty little girl rushed for ward, and assumed the dictatorship. "It was wood, if you please, sir, for Mr. Guy Fawkes' bonfire to-morrow, John was asking for, sir. Mrs. Travers has given us a holiday, GREATHEART. to go and pick up fir-cones in the plantation."

"Are you all cold, children, and are you all hungry 1" A sudden idea had struck the eminently unpractical man. There was a chorus of " Yes, sir." Visions of cakes gleamed in edible mirage before the children ; the little bright eyes stared and seemed to enlarge. " Very, sir, if you please, sir." A tea-cup stood on the mantelpiece. The saucepan of soup shook its lid, as if eager to be drank. Mr. Trevena, in a guilty sort of way, ladled out a cupful. " Here, children, take it in turns. Jinny, you first — girls before the boys — now then, Sally, Kitty — now you, Molly." The children drank the soup with delight. Mr. Trevena gave them no resting time, for fear of the return of his dreaded sister. Directly they had finished the warm collation, he hurried them off to the wood-house, where the gardener was to supply them with what they required for Guido's destruction.

" And after all," thought Mr. Trevena, " and after all, it is only a little less soup for dinner." A little less indeed — about four large spoonfuls were all that remained. How unpractical Christian charity is. It was a bright, hard, cold morning; the sun was shining with a white light ; and the holly trees, studded with scarlet drops, glistened in their green, burnished, and prickly panoply. A large log, smouldering into white ashes on the hearth, was chapped here and there with crimson rents. Out side, on the lawn, the robin sang as he picked up the worm that good Nature had iced ready for his consumption. The worthy curate struck the log a violent, unchristian blow, that drove up showers of sparks, and settled down to add up the school accounts, finding a redundancy in which to the amount of £3 14s. 2\d., he laughed aloud with good-humour, and, rubbing his hands in glee, woke the log up again with a blow that cracked the charred wood in two.

As he turned his back to the window to perform this Cœur-de-lion feat, a light step passed the window, and a lively hearty blow of the knocker rang through the house. There was a bustle in the kitchen, instantly, as when a gale of wind breaks suddenly on a ship. In dashed Emily, and tore off the saucepan, to her astonishment much lighter than she expected. In dashed Orgies, and carried off the sheets, as easily as Sampson tore off the gates of Gaza. There was always this sort of strange scurry and unbolting when you made a call at the cottage. "Mr. Arthur Tolpedden, sir," said Emily, as she threw open the door. Arthur entered in his frank, hearty way, so fear less, yet so full of deference to the feelings and pre judices of others ; his eyes glowing with vigorous health, and his complexion such as only could be shown by one who had passed his youth chiefly in GRE.YTHEx4.RT. the country*.

He took off his buckskin gloves, tossed them into his hat and shook hands warmly with his old friend. " Busy I see, Trevena," said Arthur, as he sat down at the fire and glanced at the MS. that lay on the desk before Mr. Trevena. " Yes," replied the author, his simple-hearted vanity blowing again into a flame, as he snatched up his papers. "I have been writing a charge for my friend the Bishop of Solent." " But there is no such diocese," said Arthur, somewhat amazed ; " at least I never heard of it." " That is exactly it, Arthur," said Mr. Trevena, smiling, and rubbing hislongprominent chin. " My Charge is a covert satire against many of our somewhat proud and selfish prelates. Listen, here's a rub — ' I lament that 2,000 of our brother clergy support themselves and families on less than £150 a year.

How are they to live like gentlemen on a pittance like that ? Their life is one long struggle with a hardening poverty. Their social position is not sufficiently above that of their flock, their children sink still lower in the social scale. The petty cares that harass our poorer clergy are, I may say, so many thorns in their path to heaven. When they should be teaching others the road to the cross, they are only planning how to escape penury for themselves. I therefore wish that Mr. Hookem's friend, Mr. Dufton Dig weed, would bring a bill into Parliament ' " THE PERPETUxVL CURATE. " 1 differ from you, Trevena," said Arthur. " I think the clergy are too much above the people at present. It was the friars and the Wesleyan preachers who really reached them." Trevena read down all opposition by continuing— " — a bill into Parliament to provide that all clergymen receiving less than £100 a year should be exempt from every kind of impost, whether income tax, poor rate, highway rate, or land tax."

"An excellent plan, if you can persuade the Government that it is excellent. By-the-bye, are you going to Hookem's party ? " "Yes, my sister insists on my postponing the night-school, which is that evening, and her rule, as you know, is absolute. How is it that you are not reading with Tregellas this morning ." "Mr. Tregellas has gone to the Ruri-Decanal at Bodmin, where thou ought to be, thou heretical and rebellious minister," said Arthur laughing. " Well, Arthur, I am, as you know, rather a schismatic about bishops, and rural deans, too, and should like to see them once more net-making and tent-making, like their great predecessors." " Have you seen Waverton' s appeal for his church, Trevena ." said Arthur, drawing a local paper from his pocket. Mr. Trevena read aloud — " * Altar cross, altar vases, lights for sacrarium, frontals, alms-bags, hangings for the seasons.' Why, the man is mad!

Don't you remember GREATHE.xRT. how he flew out at me at Hookem's pic-nic. This is a glorification of ironmongery-jewelry. What are ' hangings for the seasons . ' Rubbish ! the fellow is a fool ! But what can we expect, when our bishops preach about clerical retreats. Look here what this bishop says." As Mr. Trevena said this, he drew a laven der-coloured book from the mantelpiece, and jammed his finger down on a specially obnoxious passage. " ' Withdraw yourselves for a wliile from your ordinary duties, and give yourselves alone, or in communion with others, to prayer, self-examina tion, meditation, and other religious exercises.' Do you not see what all that leads to, Arthur ?" Arthur replied he scarcely knew. " Then I'll tell you, To a monastery with its fretful, mischievous celibacy, its petty envies, its cowardly desertion of home duties, and all its ridiculous distortions of human nature."

Tears of excitement sprang up in the good man's eyes as he uttered this denunciation, so to hide these he turned and made a lunge at the very reddest centre of the fire. Arthur turned the conversation by asking if Trevena had read the " Sea-Side Hexameters " he had sent him. Trevena, in a half guilty way, excavated under a pile of sermons, drew out at last the copy of the Cornhill Magazine that contained the verses of young Arthur, and began reading them. " Many-footed and swift rush the trampling waves of the ocean, White-maned, fierce, ten deep, fleet as the steeds of tbe prairie ; White-maned, tameless, and wild as the raging horse of the Tartar ; Level in rank, unsaddled, unbridled, unridden by any, For none but the Angel of Death can bestride them or rein them. Their cry is the ceaseless howl of the suffering wretches in torment, Of Cain, Holofernes, and Herod, Ananias, Sapphira, and Judas."

" Good cadences," said Trevena ; " but, after all, I think the Hexameter is a mistake, Arthur ; it has such a mechanical and wooden trot about it, it wearies me more, I think, even than the heroic stanza. Don't waste your talent about it. The perpetual promise of rhyme is most aggravating, my dear boy. Renounce it — it is like a bad farm, no tillage will make anything of it — it is an exotic, it won't grow in our cold climate. Arthur battled for his experiment. " These run better, I think," he said, evidently convinced that the fault lay in the reader. " Aye for the planks of the ships the seaworm and canker have fretted, Aye for the mast bedded deep in the labouring heaps of the sand-drift, Aye for the pennon of crimson, the slippery dark weed hath tangled, Aye for the cable untwisted, and loosened, and shredded, and soddened, Rough with the sea-shell, and crisp with the salt of the glittering crystals."

GRExVTHEi-RT " Very clever, the tone of the lament. Well, I do not like thee, Doctor Fell." ** All I can say " A knock at the door. " Come in — come in." "If you please, sir," said Emily, "here's old Penna come to ask you to lend him an old black coat to go to his son's funeral in, and missus says of course you won't do nothing of the kind." " Nonsense ! Let him have that old one with the new cuffs directly — it is in the right-hand drawer ; and tell him to take care of it. That's rather cool, though, of Penna," he said, turning to Arthur, as the door closed behind sable Emily. " Well, I think perhaps it is," said Arthur, laughing. " I'd see him further before I'd let him wear one of my coats !" "To follow Scripture, I ought, you know, Arthur, to give him my Inverness cape also ; but he shall wait for that till it gets a little older, my income not being very remarkable.

But, bless me, if there's not Mrs. and Miss Tregellas stopping at the gate. And so it was ; a little pony-carriage had just dashed up to the door, and out of it were stepping two ladies and a little girl. In a moment or two their violet ribbons fluttered past the window. Then came a little natty knock. Arthur felt all at once conscious of the blood in his heart rising in some extraordinary sort of spring-tide, then a fire seemed to break out in his cheeks, but that his pride forced back, and he felt an eager but half-anxious curiosity to know how Lucy* -would receive him. Mr. Trevena went himself to the door, and ushered in the two ladies and Clara in his cheerful, kindly way, for there was no vinegar in his religion, he was a sincere and warm-hearted man, who did not w*aste time in unmeaning apologies.

As they entered, Arthur stepped forward and shook hands with them both. There was a certain self-conscious deference in the way he shook Lucy's proffered hand. She, too, was cordial, natural, and frank as usual, but he saw* in a moment that it was a manner meant for everyone, and by no means directed to him. Her eyes were clear, limpid, and brown as those of a wild dove, but there seemed no recognition in them. Her smile was cold, al most repelling, and did not vary*, whether it fell on him or Trevena. Could there be anger lurking under the sunlit ice of that unusual manner . ** Why, too," thought Arthur, " does she talk so little, and with such careless indifference, as if her mind was not with the words." Mrs. Tregellas, a clear-complexioned, bustling, pleasant matron, of seven-and-forty, looking bright with the cold weather, and removing her driving gloves, launched into chat, in which Lucy contrived so to mingle as to prevent any divisions of conversation.

" And the pig, how did it turn out ." GREATHE.YRT. " Oh ! yes, how did it turn out ?" "It died with fortitude," said Mr. Trevena, patting the palm of his hand with a paper cutter, " it made a goodly ending at the turn o' the tide. He weighed tw*ice as much as his elder brother, and became, indeed, latterly, so fat, that old Pena had to sit up all night and feed him with a spoon !" The ladies looked at each other and laughed. Lucy in her own merry, silvery way, like a peal of fairy bells. " Nothing in life became him so much as the leaving it. I told them not to tell me when they killed him, because he was a favourite of mine ; so when the butcher came I put wool in my ears, and walked to Minster to get out of the way." "It always seems like homicide," said Arthur, " when a pig's killed in a village."

" So it does," said Lucy, with just one moment's glance at the speaker. " And so the Exhibition is closed at last, I see from the papers," said Mrs. Tregellas ; " and Lucy is the only one of us who saw it." "Were you pleased with it, Miss Tregellas 1" said Arthur. " Yes, I was pleased ; but there was too much to see, and the best things, the pictures, were al ways so crowded." "Our friends, the Barkers," said Mrs. Tre gallas, say that when the organ played its last grand farewell, and it began to get dai'k, and Rimmel's scented fountain ceased, it was quite pathetic to see the lingering people, sorry to leave the scene of a whole summer's enjoyment." " I don't believe much myself in exhibitions," said Trevena ; " they only change the direction of trade, they don't increase it. They are got up by vain men to gain publicity, ann to offer opportu nities for fussy displays, so the Forge say*s." " Which never said a sound good-natured thing yet, and never praises anyone but Lord Derby and Littlemore the poet."

" You are quite right, Arthur," said Mrs. Tregel las ; " isn't he, Lucy f " " I can't bear the Forge," said Lucy, refusing any direct accordance with Arthur's views. "Poor Prince Albert," said Mr. Trevena, " thought exhibitions would be marts for the inter change of ideas," said Mr. Trevena ; " but I can trace no special practical benefit derived from them. Things worth buying need no exhibitors to bring them from the Continent." Mr. Trevena here rang the bell to send Emily for her missus. But Emily, upon receiving the order, opened her sable lips and delivered a short oracle. " If you please mum — sir — missus begs her compliments to Missus and Miss Tregellas, and is sorry that she is doing something that she cannot well leave, and hope they'll excuse her." Trevena shrugged his shoulders.

GREATHEART. " That's the pig being salted," he said drily. " What Lilly and I really came for, Mr. Trevena," said Mrs. Tregellas, " was to just take one look at your school." "Just one little peep," said Lucy. " And so you shall — of course you shall. Arthur, come, put on your hat and go with us. My eldest class, I 'must inform you, is absent collecting eleemosynary wood for Guy Fawkes's auto-da-fe; but the little things are all there. You High Church people don't burn Guys, do you?" " Oh ! y*es, we do," said Lucy, laughing ; " and a Pope too. There are no Roman Catholics near us to be hurt by that religious ceremonial." There was a delicious sense of gentle irony in the manner in wliich this was said. The road to the school, to Arthur's secret, but intense delight, was so narrow that it compelled Lucy, but evidently against her will, to allow her mother, Clara, and Mr. Trevena to walk first, while she and Arthur followed, for a moment or tw*o without speaking.

At last, with a coldness too severely rigid to be real, Lucy said, " Do you compete for Mr. Hookem's silver cup, Mr. Tolpedden ." "Yes; and we meet at the 'Merry Maidens' on Tuesday week. I hope we shall see you there." " I suppose papa will take us," said Lucy, with almost more indifference than the answer needed. THE PERPETUxxL CURATE. Arthur could not bear this any longer. "Miss Tregellas," he said, in a low voice, "I am afraid I have done something to offend you . " Lucy was silent for a moment. " Nothing went wrong, 1 hope, about St. Tudy's fair ?" " Only this," Lucy uttered the words quietly, " that you did not keep your promise — but then, what are promises ." " I did — not — keep — my promise !" said Arthur, astonished. Love looks at first so like his twin-brother, Friendship, that he can scarcely be distinguished apart.

Both Arthur and Lily, as they talked, felt an interest in the conversation, but did not dare to consider from whence the interest arose. Yet Lucy could not conceal that she was hurt at the non-performance of the promise about the fair at St. Tudy; while Arthur's eagerness in self-de fence would have betray-ed his secret to any in different person. " Indeed, Miss Tregellas, on my honour I left Bradbrain, Lucas, and Fitzhugh on their straight way* home to your father's house." " The pair arrived about midnight, and in a hor rible state, singing, shouting, and defying my father. It was all mamma could do to induce him not to have them turned out of doors." " I am very sorry, and very astonished at Brad brain ; I did not think he could ever forget that he was a gentleman." VOL. II. C GREATHEART.

" Some one did tell papa that you encouraged them to remain." " Whoever said so, I deny it, Miss Tregellas," said Arthur, lingering at a turn in the road, in order to emphasize his sentence ; " whoever said so uttered an intentional lie. I left their party only when they had already started, or pretended to start, for St. Petrock's ; and I kept my promise to the letter, in all but the coming with them to the rectory door." Lucy looked up, and smiled — sunshine seemed again to brighten in her eyes. She seemed so glad at Arthur's contradiction of the report, that she did not make any effort to show that she was pleased at the earnestness of his defence, and that she implicitly believed it. " I am glad, Mr. Tolpedden, that the story was not true. I found it hard to believe you regardless of a promise."

" You could not think that I had broken it !" " No, I did not for a long time — not even when papa became so angry, and complained of you and Mr. Bradbrain for not having prevented it ; but afterwards, when " Arthur was too generous a fellow to accuse Bradbrain of having led Lucas and Fitzhugh into the discreditable revel. " Who was it spread the report . Will you tell me?" " No. That I may not tell you, so do not ask me." By this time they had reached the school-room door, and the conversation ceased. That afternoon, when Mr. Trevena returned home, his terrible sister opened the door for him. She was followed by Emily, who carried the almost empty soup-vessel, to which her mistress pointed. All Miss Trevena said was these few words in a hollow and prophetic voice, " John, this is most unfeeling conduct ! You'll never get salt to your bread ; no, not if you live for three hundred years !"

Chapter II. The Capitul

-TION. THE morning after the mesmeric lecture was a hard frost — a black frost. The road was rough and wrinkled as the hide of an old elephant. The wind blew keen and cold over the frozen fields and shook down frosty fur crystals from the branches of the trees. Mrs. Davis, of the Boscastle post-office, was sorting the morning mail, when Sampy again pre sented himself at the half door. Not this time in a slinking half-deprecating way, but with a bold sanctimoniousness peculiar to himself — a confidence was in his walk, and in every gesture. There was about Sampy just that air of quiet triumph with which a veteran gamekeeper goes to C GREATHEART. a trap, with the certainty of finding in it the ver min for which he had set the bait the night before. Yes ; Sampy was as sure of the bird in the bush as if it was the bird in the hand.

The Dowser was no special favourite with Mrs. Davis, who was a strict Churchwoman, and had a hatred of mining speculations, by which her good husband had once been bitten. So she went on sorting the packs of letters, and tucking them into the little nest of pigeon-holes behind her. " Good mornen, Missus Davis ; how d'ye fadgeys 'twere now ? (how d'ye get on)" " Pure and brave, thankee, Mister Sandoe. What can I do for you ?" " There's a letter for me, Mrs. Davis, if I'm not wrong." " Yes, Mr. Sandoe, I think there is." As Mrs. Davis said this, she dashed at a distant pigeon-hole, and drew forth a dozen or so of local letters, directed to the Post-office, Boscastle, and shuffled them over with a practised hand. " No, Mr. Sandoe ; there's no letter for 'ee." Sandoe turned to go away, but reluctantly ; before he reached the door he turned and came back.